


How Dean and Castiel Got Fake Married

by allthebeautifulthings9828



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angels, Bartender Sam, Comfort/Angst, Dean Cooks, Dean Has Nightmares, Demon Bela Talbot, Demon Cure, Demon Summoning, Demonic Possession, Demons, Domestic Castiel, Domestic Castiel/Dean Winchester, Domestic Dean Winchester, Domestic Fluff, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/F, F/M, Fallen Angels, Fallen Castiel, Falling In Love, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Fluffy Ending, Hellhounds, Human Castiel, Hurt Castiel, Hurt/Comfort, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Domestic Violence, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Sex, Kissing, Love, M/M, Magic, Making Out, Making Up, Married Castiel/Dean Winchester, POV Dean Winchester, Post-Episode: s08e23 Sacrifice, Protective Dean Winchester, Protective Sam Winchester, Rituals, Romance, Romantic Angst, Romantic Fluff, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Slow Romance, Spells & Enchantments, Succubi & Incubi, Teacher Castiel, Voodoo, Witchcraft, Witches
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-02
Updated: 2014-08-25
Packaged: 2017-12-22 03:47:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 41
Words: 123,738
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/908528
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/allthebeautifulthings9828/pseuds/allthebeautifulthings9828
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Angels roam the earth with all of their powers, no wings, and a serious vendetta against Castiel, who they blame for their heavenly banishment. He decides he has to leave the bunker before he leads the angry angels directly to the Winchesters, but Dean stops him. They just found each other again and he's not willing to be separated. So Sam, Dean, and Castiel hash out a plan to go into hiding until they can figure out how to fix the problem. Going into hiding from angels requires throwing them off with things they wouldn't expect Castiel to do. And so, the hunter and the former angel find themselves fake-married and relocating with Sam to Maine. Soon they discover through Charlie that demons are taking advantage of the chaos caused by angels forced out of Heaven to breed with humans in an effort to create powerful half-breed children that will outnumber earthbound angels and destroy them. Not only do the Winchesters have to fight off angry angels, but they realize nobody can stop the demons except them. What does it mean for Dean and Castiel, Sam and Wilhelmina, and Charlie?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. How Dean and Castiel Got Fake Married

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Angels roam the earth with all of their powers, no wings, and a serious vendetta against Castiel, who they blame for their heavenly banishment. He decides he has to leave the bunker before he leads the angry angels directly to the Winchesters, but Dean stops him. They just found each other again and he's not willing to be separated. So Sam, Dean, and Castiel hash out a plan to go into hiding until they can figure out how to fix the problem. Going into hiding from angels requires throwing them off with things they wouldn't expect Castiel to do. And so, the hunter and the former angel find themselves fake-married and relocating with Sam to Maine.

It wasn't a particular moment. No swelling music in a chick flick moment. No declaration of love to win some award for beautiful poetry. The shift simply  _happened_ when Metatron stole Castiel's grace.

It took three weeks for him to find the Winchesters again, and when he showed up at the bunker, Dean shoved Sam out of the way to be the first to crush Castiel in an embrace. He even kissed his cheek in unadulterated relief that the angel - well, not anymore - was still alive.

Nobody asked questions when Castiel began creeping down the hall at night to crawl into bed with Dean. He never asked permission. Dean never denied it. It was just the simplest solution to the most violent nightmares. And when Dean kept a hand on his back, or his chest, just to make sure he stayed through the night, well, neither of them needed to talk about it. They'd already been through three or four lifetimes of impossible, miserable, life and death things. Really, what both of them needed was the ability to lie close, to touch, and yes, eventually, to kiss and make love without the pressure to verbalize the truth behind it all.

Sometimes Sam accidentally walked into a room and caught them in a silent embrace or a peck over coffee. He never said anything. He knew it was a long time coming. And anyway, the younger Winchester was still rather sick from the trials. Everything he witnessed with Crowley left him quieter than before.

Even as a human man, Castiel remained on guard and on the defensive wherever they went. More than a few nights passed without him sleeping at all. Instead, he sat up while the Winchesters slept and wandered the bunker, checking and rechecking every devil's trap, angel warding sigil, and door lock in the place. He went through those phases frequently as if he expected some kind of attack, yet everything seemed relatively quiet. Within a month, even Sam started feeling like himself again.

Dean cornered the former angel in the library late one night. "Hey, why are you still up? Everything's secure."

"I'm just checking," Castiel replied without looking him in the eye.

"Okay..." Skeptical, he glanced at the front door lock and back at his new human. "But you know you're lying to me. So let's just cut the crap before we get into reruns."

Blue eyes went blank. "I don't understand that reference."

Dean sighed heavily. "Cas, just tell me what's really going on."

He shifted nervously from one foot to the other and pulled out chairs for both of them. It didn't bode well that he thought Dean should sit for the conversation but he complied if only to get Castiel to talk. The sleepless nights were becoming entirely too frequent for a human's health, even for the most unhealthy human like Dean.

"The angels are still out there," he said as if it was news.

"I know," Dean said.

"They have all of their powers, Dean, except flying. You saw the wings ... the wings burn that night." Castiel recoiled as if the words punched him in the gut. The memories haunted him, Dean knew, but he never spoke about it since then. "I'm hunted. Now that I'm human - no powers whatsoever - it makes me vulnerable. They blame me for what happened. Maybe rightly so. I did--"

"--You did everything you could to fix it," interrupted Dean.

"That's not how they see it. They're forming factions and most of those factions want me dead. It's the first order of business, really. Me living here with you puts your life at risk - you and Sam - and I'm struggling to ... to stay."

The pit of Dean's stomach dropped to the floor, though he stiffened and folded his arms over his chest in an effort to hide the very physical reaction. "I've had enough of you disappearing without any explanation. We talked about this. Whenever you disappear, everything goes to hell in a handbasket. If you flutter your ass out of here again, whether with wings or on foot, those dicks are gonna know about me anyway because I _will_ find you."

"I knew you would say that," Castiel mumbled more to himself. "I can't stay here. They'll see me in town and follow me back here. This place must remain protected. It contains knowledge bigger than you or me. We're just leaving a breadcrumb trail for the angel factions to follow."

That news didn't sit well in Dean's stomach either, mainly because he knew Castiel was right. He nodded soberly.

"I have to go, Dean. I have to hide." To soften the blow, Castiel leaned forward in his chair and pried Dean's hands away from his chest. He sandwiched them between his and studied every cut and callous in silence. Finally, he spoke again, softer and raw in intimacy. "I would have killed myself more than once if it wasn't for you. You saved me. I just wanted you to know that."

"Don't do that. Save the Hallmark card." An abrupt jerk of his hands ripped away from Castiel's grasp.

"Dean--"

"--We leave together or we stay and fight. Your choice." Dean pursed his lips and arched his brow, as completely serious as he'd ever been about anything else.

"I can't do that to you."

"Oh but you can take off and disappear? I don't think so, Cas. That's not how we do things in this family. We're gonna talk it over with Sammy in the morning and figure out what we're gonna do. Now come to bed. We need our four hours."

Sam, of course, hated the idea of Castiel striking off on his own as much as Dean did. Even though no one verbally acknowledged the deeper relationship developing between the former angel and the hunter, they all knew both sides would descend into downward spirals without each other. They sat at the table in the main hall over Dean's eggs, sausage, hash browns, and toast, debating the pros and cons of staying vs leaving. Eventually, they all reached an agreement of going into hiding until they could figure out how to send thousands or even millions of angels back to Heaven. At the very least, they had to get the angels off Castiel's ass.

The Winchesters had been in hiding before when the Leviathans were going on crime sprees in copycat meat suits. They knew how to do it. The problem was hiding from a zillion pissed off earthbound angels presented a much larger challenge.

"They'll be looking for the three of us together," theorized Sam, "so maybe we should keep separate living spaces. If I lived in a city, for example, they'd probably see me and think you're there too, but really, you're living somewhere in the sticks with Cas. I mean... you know... since you two are..."

"Yeah, yeah," Dean cut him off.

Sam's mouth twisted as if he wanted to laugh but choked it down. "We should be within driving distance of each other," he went on, "and we're gonna need new identities. Not ones we've used before."

"We can't even live in a place where we've lived before," added Dean. "How am I gonna explain living with him?" He hooked a thumb at Castiel sitting next to him.

"The truth," said Castiel, his first contribution to the plans.

"What?" Bewilderment tilted Dean's face slightly.

His dark blue eyes darted between Dean and Sam as he made his point. "The angels won't expect me to be in an amorous bond. Even in Heaven, I sort of..." He searched for the right words to describe what they thought of him. "I have a reputation for, as you put it, having a stick up my ass. Trust me when I say they won't be looking for attached men." Looking shyly at Dean, he stammered the rest. "We should be married. Or at least acquire false documents to make people believe we're married."

Dumbfounded wouldn't even begin to touch the streak of shock painted across Dean's face as he stared, utterly speechless, at that man beside him. He didn't even marry Lisa. Hunters don't keep spouses! Panic rose from his gut and he bolted from the table, fist to mouth, and turned his back on them.

"Dean, I'm not suggesting--"

"--You're suggesting we live openly even if the documents are forged. Rainbow flag, card carrying members of the other half." He exhaled sharply. "Just gimme a minute to get my head around--"

"--It's not a big deal, Dean." Sam's voice took on that irritating politically correct bullshit tone. "Half the planet's in same-sex marriages. Being married at all is probably the most normal thing you've ever done. And anyway, he's not saying get married for real. Faking out the angels is gonna save his life. Don't you think you ought to get over your messed up idea of what hunters should be to do that?"

"I get it, okay?" A fist formed and Dean wanted to punch something but that didn't help anything either. He really wanted to punch himself for acting like a douche. Again, he exhaled sharply.

Facing the table, Dean found Castiel staring at his hands with that painful innocence of a child doing wrong. Seeing emotions in his face still struck Dean as weird but he knew what the former angel felt so clearly like reading the words in his features. He thought he'd done wrong. He thought he made Dean angry.

"Cas, it's not you--" He stopped short, eyes sliding to Sam and back again. "I didn't mean  _you_ make me uncomfortable. You know how I fe--" Shit, he tangled up in his own words. "You gotta understand I tried this before with Lisa and it blew up in my face. She and Ben almost got killed. I swore I'd never make anyone else I care about that vulnerable again, so you asking me to take this out in daylight with a white picket fence is freaking me out a little bit, okay?"

Castiel stood and approached Dean, though he couldn't discern whether he looked angry or upset. "I'm not Lisa. Up until a few months ago, I had the ability to smite anything that came across my path. I've fought and led troops in wars stretching back further in time than you can comprehend. And I've rebelled, I've been cast out, my grace stolen, I'm hunted with a price on my head _again_ , and everything I do is for you, Dean. As far as hunters go, I think I have significantly more experience than either of you give me credit for." He paused, piercing through Dean with his intense stare. "Don't create a false sense of weakness around me to make yourself feel better. Last night, you said we do this together. So, as you humans say - if you love me, you shouldn't be afraid to commit to me, even if it is forged commitment."

The fucking messed up part of it all was Dean didn't find the idea of that kind of commitment to Castiel unbearable, but he feared the culpability of domestic life. He resigned himself to being a killer, not a family man. But somewhere in his gut, he knew Castiel stood the best chance of anyone at surviving marriage to a hunter. _Fuck_. The word marriage fit in his vocabulary about as well as the Greek alphabet.

Turmoil strangled Dean until he bolted from the room without responding to Castiel's argument. He exploded out of the bunker into the bright Kansas sunlight, breathing clean air as if he'd been suffocated. He didn't know if he could do it. If he attempted that life again, that addicting taste of normalcy, even if it was just designed to keep Castiel alive in their self-designed Angel Protection Program, he might get used to it. He might like it. Then what? Would they get fake divorced if Castiel got his grace back from Metatron? Or would he have to watch someone else he cared about die because of his hunter life?

 _Fuck_.

In the end, Dean agreed to the plan. He decided somewhere in the middle of the night as he yanked blankets back from the blue eyed octopus next to him that refusing to go through with it definitely ensured a bloody end. If he went through with it, at least they stood a shot.

The next morning, Dean shuffled aimlessly around the bunker clutching a coffee mug that he barely touched. Sam teased him about looking like a real groom headed for the ball and chain, to which Dean seriously considered punching him. It was going to be a fake marriage, not a real one, yet Dean's stomach twitched and jumped all day as if it was real. Maybe it was, a little bit. He and Castiel certainly behaved like people in love, but never in the open, and that made him nervous.

Damn it. Dean drove himself nuts thinking in circles, yet Castiel sank into an undefinable quiet serenity. So certain, it seemed. So clear on his new life path. That baffled Dean to no end.

"Okay, so I called Charlie," announced Sam, joining the silent fake-engaged couple in the kitchen. "She's the best hacker we know. She's working on new identities and all the stuff we need to, you know, join the normal human race. She thinks she can get us some funds for getting started too."

"None of the aliases we normally use," Dean added.

"Nope. I did some digging and it looks like people..." The younger brother hesitated. "You know, people like you two - they're hyphenating their last names."

"I don't have a last name," Castiel pointed out rather calmly.

"You will. And we're limited to states where same-sex marriage is legal, which, luckily, are mostly states we never frequent. Mostly up in New England. I looked around and I think our best bet for laying low is the Portland, Maine, area. Decent sized city but mostly rural."

Equal calmness from Sam responded to him, which meant his hesitation acted out of fear toward Dean. Well, they were both entirely too calm about this marriage business and Dean considered going into Witness Protection just to hide from it himself. His brain circled around again - nope, it wasn't Castiel that freaked him out. It was the eventual loss of normalcy that had him unglued. And if he didn't quit thinking in fucking circles, he intended on driving his own skull through a brick wall.

"Is this really the best way to hide Cas?" he asked for the third time.

Patiently, Castiel nodded in his direction. "This is the last thing the factions of angels will expect me to do. They're used to your movements. Sam's right. It will take them time to catch up to us in Maine under these circumstances."

Dean sighed - more like took a cleansing breath - and nodded, again, for the third time.

It took a week for the hunter to ease himself into the idea of fake marriage to a man. He forced him to confront the panic, bordering on phobia, and slowly understood some buried part of himself that wanted the family life and viewed the fake marriage as authentic. Dean taught himself not to act on emotion all the way back in his childhood, so when a little feeling escaped the cage, like for Castiel, his entire body fought and wrestled the damn thing to the ground. Sure, it wasn't healthy, but what was healthy about him? This time, though, that escapee emotion got away. He couldn't catch it. He couldn't wrestle it. So he surrendered.

Charlie and her flaming red hair appeared at the bunker eight days after Sam commissioned her services. They gathered in the main hall and she dropped a shoebox in the center of their powwow.

"Meet your new selves, boys," she said, pulling out driver's licenses, birth certificates, immunization records, and a substantial wad of cash. "Sam, your name's gonna be Paul Soule now. Newlyweds, you're Michael Soule--" She pointed at Dean. "--and Nicholas King--" She pointed at Castiel. "Together, you're Soule-King."

"Hold on. You're calling me  _Michael_? Are you  _trying_ to be ironic?"

Charlie's olive green eyes went blank as her brain tried to piece it together. Then she blinked and gasped in horror. "Oh, crap! I forgot you were Michael's big lightsaber! I had to go through census records from the nineteenth century to find IDs that fit your trio here. It'd take time to change it..."

"No, it's fine." The longer they delayed, the more likely the angels would find them before they even disappeared. Dean studied his new Maine state driver's license.

"Okay, so..." Charlie and Sam exchanged knowing looks of apprehension as she handed Dean a large page. "This is your marriage certificate. You were married December 31, 2012, in Old Orchard Beach, just a couple of days after it became legal. I didn't do it on the actual day it became legal to avoid curious people looking through newspapers. Besides," she shrugged and formed a crooked smile, "New Years Eve is romantic."

Dean felt dizzy. Castiel, on the other hand, visibly suppressed a smile into some sort of forced serenity. It made him happy, Dean guessed through his spinning brain, and he really didn't want to disrupt that suppressed happiness with a frightened reaction.

"Oh! I forgot!" shrieked Charlie as she hopped to her bag on the table behind her. "You can't be fake-married without fake-rings. I banged them up a little so they look used. Here."

A boxed tossed at Dean and another box tossed at Castiel, who immediately put his on without hesitation. The silver band sported a few scratches but fit well on the ring finger of his left hand. Dean really didn't want them staring at him, so he slammed the ring on his finger and then slammed both of his hands in his back pockets.

Luckily, Charlie didn't dwell on the moment. Her hands clapped together and she outstretched her arms like a priest. "Go forth and multiply, my children. Don't forget to change your cells. Call me when you get to your new digs up there with the lobsters and lumberjacks." She opened her arms again. "Bring it in, boys. Gimme a broment."

The tree of them piled around Charlie, the little sister they never knew they needed, and their enormous statures nearly swallowed her whole. She kissed all of them goodbye with a special reminder to Castiel not to forget how dreamy he is, which he didn't understand at first, but pink tinged his cheeks when it did register. And as she hugged Dean again, she whispered in his ear that she lived openly with her girlfriends and it was okay, that he should relax and enjoy it. He nodded, thankful that she kept her advice in private tones.

A day later, the three of them packed their things - just enough to look like any other hunt - and headed east. The wedding ring distracted Dean as his hand balanced on the steering wheel, but he practiced being accustomed to it.

They stored the Impala in Pennsylvania and split up, using some of the cash to buy used cars. Castiel insisted the angels would look for Dean's preferred old muscle cars, so he found himself begrudgingly paying for a used black Volkswagen Jetta. Sam bought himself the kind of shapeless eco-friendly car that he always did if he got left alone too long. At least the good news was their new identities checked out enough to get each of them car notes. Jobs. Dean knew they'd need jobs as soon as they got to Maine.

All right, so maybe the Jetta didn't feel so bad, he admitted to himself on the third day of driving cross-country. He glanced in the rear view mirror for Sam's dark blue eco-shit. It all seemed to go well. Maybe he could relax a little and, as Charlie put it, enjoy his life in their self-designed Angel Protection Program.

"You want a house or an apartment, Cas?" he asked, glancing at his passenger.

Castiel's face shot up from his book, bewildered. "Nobody has ever asked me that before. What do you want?"

"I'm cool with anything," he replied with a shrug. "Hell, I lived in my car more often than anything else. A roof over my head and a bed without visible stains is a castle to me. So whatever makes you happy is fine."

"Perhaps it's time you think about what makes you happy too, Dean." Those studious blue eyes observed his profile intently. He didn't need to look. He felt it. "I think I would like to have a garden if you truly want to know what I think. Flower patches. Vegetable patches. The growing season is much shorter that far north but--"

"--But we can make it work," the hunter, nodding. "If you want a garden, then you want a house."

There was that serene, self-assured, smile again. "A house, then."

Holy shit. Dean Winchester was married.


	2. House Hunting Hunters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The first order of business when relocating to a new state is looking for a place to live, right? Except for Dean, that also means facing a bunch of strangers who obviously know he's married to a man. He's struggling and knows he's going to continue to struggle even though he knows he has to do this fake marriage to help Castiel hide from angels who want to kill him. Meanwhile, Sam is taking to the funky, young city of Portland, Maine, like a duck in water. Can he help Dean find his footing there too?

"Vaulted ceilings, hardwood floors, bay windows, onsite laundry facilities..." The building's landlord led Sam, Dean, and Castiel through the second floor of an old Victorian home split into five apartments. "No deposit required if you have no pets. Eight twenty five per month, and heat and water are included."

"What about air?" Sam asked as he leaned into a bay window for a look at Carleton Street.

The landlord laughed, a tight, tittering sort of noise, and flipped a bouncy curl over her shoulder. "Mr. Soule, you're not from Maine, are you? Hardly anyone here uses air conditioning."

Dean would never get used to being called Michael Soule and he guessed Sam would never get used to being called Paul Soule. Scratch that. Dean was Michael Soule- _King_. He glanced over at Castiel, to be known as Nicholas Soule-King, as the former angel took an interest in the state of Sam's soon-to-be cramped kitchen. The landlord had noticed their wedding rings and half-smiled when they were introduced, but she made no comments, thank fuck. Dean didn't want to have to deck a woman. It took Sam a week to find an apartment with 'character' that he liked and could afford.

"I think I like this place," Sam announced finally. "I like the West End. It's in the middle of all the bars and stuff."

"Oh, are you a bartender?" the landlord asked, flipping another curl.

Dean kind of wanted to hack off her hair just to make her stop flipping those spiral curls after every other sentence. Then again, his moods hadn't been rational since Sam dragged the 'newlyweds' all over Portland looking for a place to fit his taste.

"Bartender, bouncer, whatever. I do whatever work gets thrown at me."

"Ah, okay." She nodded and turned to Dean and Castiel. "What about you two? Looking for apartments too, I suppose?"

Dean opened his mouth but, anticipating a smart ass response, Castiel silenced him with a hand on his arm, and spoke instead. "Actually, we prefer houses in the country. I'm a gardener." He wasn't, really, but he thought of himself as one. "Paul's the city lover. We prefer the quiet and open space out of down, don't we, Mike?"

A thin smile creased Dean's mouth. "Yeah, we do, Nick," he replied.

Behind the landlord, Sam's expression opened into silent laughter at the taming of the hunter.

Within an hour, Paul Soule signed a six month lease and paid the first and last month's rent. One down, one to go. Sam determined that he could easily get a bouncer job at one of a few dozen bars in the area given his size and looks. They all oddly fit in Maine with their jeans and layers of t-shirts and flannel. Dean refused to admit it out loud but Portland was a nice city, not too big and not too small. The trouble would be resisting the urge to hunt among all that history. It was probably crawling with ghosts, and up north in the wilderness, werewolves.

Dean didn't notice any fast food places in Portland, at least the West End. Con. Sam would love that, but he needed juicy bacon cheeseburgers and chili fries to function. Luckily, they weren't going to live close together if they could help it. It might be weird for a few weeks for the brothers to live apart, but Sam already seemed excited about having autocratic control over his own place. No surprise anime porn on his laptop. No dirty socks mysteriously turning up in the bathroom sink. No obnoxious classic rock played over and over again. He'd be king of his fancy little apartment in the building with 'character'. On the other hand, Dean could do all of those things Sam hated without the constant bitching. And they'd still hang out together.

"I think I have it narrowed down to three potential houses," Castiel said from behind Sam's laptop in some restaurant on Commercial Street. "They're in the surrounding counties. De--Mike, this one in Freeport is on the water. You could begin fishing again."

If Dean was a dog, his ears would have perked up with that idea. He kept his poker face, though, asking instead, "How much are you costing me?"

"Us, Mike. Us. I'm capable of having a job too." The former angel scrolled through a real estate website with a perturbed expression, like a housewife being pushed by her husband to remain at home. "This one is two hundred more than Sa--Paul's rent. We can afford that. I think we should drive out there and look at it."

"Anything you want, dear," Dean replied, only half-sarcasm, as he crammed the last of some sandwich called a lobster roll in his mouth. He never had the luxury of caring where he lived in his life, so he might as well let Castiel have what he wanted.

"You two are so adorable." Sam swallowed his remaining beer.

"Shut up."

Smirking, Castiel grabbed his Coke for the road. "Paul, are you jealous?"

The sarcasm dripping from his words stopped both brothers in their tracks. Sam scowled, mildly offended, but Dean had never been more proud of Castiel. He slapped his 'husband' on the arm laughingly, the first real laughter out of him since they left Kansas.

In the end, Castiel handled the entire house hunting process. He determined the first one in Falmouth was far too expensive for so little land - rocky land unsuitable for gardening at that. Dean simply sucked on his Coke straw and obediently followed Castiel around as he asked a thousand questions about recent inspections, heating ducts, and the type of sewage removal. He took to it all with the meticulous thought and planning that he put into being a military commander in Heaven.

Outside at the second house near a town called Gorham, Dean leaned against a tree nursing another Coke. He really wanted a whiskey but Castiel vetoed that idea, saying they had to look like ideal tenants. Sam leaned against the same tree and they both watched Castiel walking the property with the landlord.

"Hey, so you two okay?" Sam asked conversationally.

Dean shrugged. "Sure, why?"

"I dunno, man. You seem more ... surly ... than normal."

"Surly's my baseline," he replied.

"Yeah, but--"

"--Sammy, I think anybody living under a false identity to protect someone they love has a right to be surly. And anyone forced to be  _out_ before they're ready has a right to be surly too." He slurped his Coke, possibly more of an anxious habit than thirst, and his eyes tracked Castiel on the porch. He laughed. Maybe he liked the Gorham house.

"Look, I get all that," replied Sam in a lowered voice, "and you're right. I just don't wanna see you bolt on Cas because of this. You were making a good, happy thing together, you know? Don't give this fake marriage thing too much weight between you two. You gotta keep that good, happy thing between both of you and push the fake stuff into perspective. Maybe one day you'll do it for real. Maybe you won't. Don't stress too much about what it all  _means_ or what people think."

Dean's eyes flashed up at his brother as he chewed the straw. "You done, Dr. Phil?"

Rolling his eyes, Sam pushed off the tree and strolled away. "Jerk..."

"Bitch..."

The hunter chuckled to himself. He watched Castiel shake hands with the landlord; so polite and so like a human, yet inexplicably awkward and foreign at the same time. No matter how deep underground they went, Castiel would always be an angel uncertain about human behavior, and Dean would always be a hunter packing guns, blades, and lock picks where people couldn't see them. Those building blocks of their identities had to keep them grounded as they went deeper into playing the parts of Mike and Nick.

And Sam was right whether he'd ever say so or not. They  _had_ been building something good and happy before Castiel had to go into hiding. The fact that Dean wouldn't let him go alone spoke volumes of how he actually felt. He had to keep his surly attitude in check before Castiel was the one to get fed up and leave.

Castiel descended the rise of the sloping yard. "What do you think?"

"It's nice enough," replied Dean noncommittally. "You like it?"

A light shrug lifted Castiel's shoulders. He looked at the structure. "I don't know, Dean." He lowered his voice enough to use the real name and Dean was silently grateful for it. "Perhaps we should tour the Freeport house before we decide for certain. I have a ... feeling, I think, about that one."

"Okay," Dean readily agreed. "I have a feeling about _fishing_."

As it turned out, the house in Freeport impressed both of them. Even Sam expressed a little jealousy. Lower Flying Point Road situated on a curling finger of land that extended out into the sea. Though the street was lined with houses dating from about 1900 to modern structures, each one had a bit of property. Their lot sat on a quarter of an acre, which was really all Castiel needed to play with his hopeful gardening hobby. It also meant Dean wouldn't kill himself trying to mow massive acreage every week.

The house itself had been build just before World War II and stood close to the shore, which left most of the land serving as a buffer from the street. If Castiel planted a few privacy trees, it would make Dean feel more secure about angels driving by trying to find them. They called the house a Cape and it had a strange sloping roof common to most houses in that state. It had a little portico rather than a full porch, but the masculine dark wood beams running along the ceilings on the first floor made Dean feel a bit like living in Bobby's old place. Panoramic windows opened the back of the house to stunning views of trees, the shore, and Casco Bay beyond it. The house wasn't too big at all, more like a cottage, but it had two bedrooms. The landlord, of course, hinted at expanding the family, to which Dean plastered on a haha yes but I'm stabbing you in my mind grin.

But fishing. Fishing! And a  _boat_ left on their own dock.

Okay. Dean got a little excited.

Damn it.

Both of them took their turn signing the lease. It was the first time Dean scribbled out his 'married' name and his signature came out nearly illegible so he wouldn't freak out too much at seeing it.

"Well, it's done," Sam said on the drive back to the motel toward sunset. "I know these aren't the greatest circumstances but I think I'm gonna like it here."

"Me too, Sam," agreed Castiel, watching the scenery pass his window.

Dean, however, approached it with much less idealism and much more caution. "Yeah, but both of you don't go getting too chummy with people until they get tested. Silver, holy water, angel blade. The usual. Be nice to people, I guess, but keep your distance. We don't know when or how those dicks with wings are gonna find us."

"Of course, Dean," said Castiel.

"This ain't my first rodeo. I know," added Sam.

Sighing, Dean got on the highway toward Portland. "Can I drink now?"

It struck Castiel as funny, apparently, as he chuckled in the passenger seat. "Yes, dear," he joked with a hand reaching over to rub Dean's shoulder.

"Thank fuck. Let's find a bar. You're drinking too, Cas."


	3. Seriously? A Ghost?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As Dean and Castiel begin remodeling their new home, they struggle to define their roles. They meet one of their neighbors just before Sam arrives with a housewarming gift. It all feels entirely too normal for Dean, who feels the panic of domesticity starting to bubble inside of himself. But even as they try to live a normal family life, something in the house doesn't seem quite right. They walk in on a kitchen completely destroyed, yet no one had been there. It upsets Castiel, and as he goes outside, he confronts Dean about his inability to take their relationship into public. Are they going to make it through this fake marriage with their relationship in tact?

"Cas! A little help here?" Dean ended up perched on an extending ladder, trapped by a bucket of paint that fell. Slate gray with a slight hint of blue expanded over the drop cloth. "Son of a bitch."

The stairwell creaked as Castiel hurried up from the living room. "Dean? Oh. What did you do?" He stopped in the bedroom doorway and stared at the massive puddle of spilled paint as if it was a dead body.

"I thought the floor needed a little color," snapped Dean sarcastically as he climbed down from the ladder and carefully stepped around the mess. "Watch your feet. Help me. We're just gonna have to haul it out to the dumpster and get more paint. You wanna ride into town with me?"

"I haven't finished putting together the cabinet. You humans have a great talent for over-complicating furniture," Castiel replied as they both crouched and rolled up the drop cloth. "I'm tempted to learn to build my own. It seems the pieces in those pre-packaged kits are poorly made and difficult to put together. I could do better."

"And what are you gonna do with all this furniture you build when we're not hiding out anymore?"

They grabbed opposite ends of the ruined drop cloth and gingerly hoisted it off the floor. "I'll put my furniture in the bunker. Make it more like a home," he decided as they toted the mess downstairs.

Outside, they carried it across the yard to the dumpster Dean ordered while they worked on the house. Making a deal to knock off some rent money depending on the work they did on the place was the greatest idea. It would keep Dean busy until he found a job and it would save them some rent money. Besides, he didn't exactly hate working with his hands. He let Castiel decide how the house should look for the most part but the kitchen was off limits. That was  _his_ domain.

"Oh, hello!" a voice called out to them.

Dean turned and watched a woman crossing the street toward them, carrying a glass dish - maybe a casserole, he guessed. A smile plastered on his face like an awkwardly crafted mask. He knew he had a part to play but nothing felt more foreign. Castiel, on the other hand, appeared much more comfortable and less like an actor.

The woman wore high-waisted tan slacks and a blue shirt, much like Dean's nightmare of a soccer mom. "I'd heard people moved in over here a few days ago, so I brought you a blueberry cobbler. I'm Kathleen Hanks. I live just over there." She turned, pointing out a much larger green home on a larger plot of land. But Dean knew, as she looked between him and Castiel again, she tried to calculate the exact nature of their living arrangement. "What can I call you fellas?"

Castiel extended his hand, shaking hers. "I'm Nick. This is my husband, Mike." He glanced at Dean's perma-grin of steel, squinted in a silent communication, and lightly slapped his arm. "Mike... say hello."

He cleared his throat and shook himself. "Sorry. Hi, Kathleen." He shook her hand. "I'm still not used to hearing the word husband."

"Oh, that's so sweet. How long have you been married?"

"Seven months," Castiel replied easily.

Her smile turned perma-grin too, Dean noticed, and he wondered if she found their relationship repugnant or if she'd simply never met any same-sex couples. Honestly, he wanted to tell her the whole thing freaked him out too. Instead, he took the blueberry cobbler and considered driving and eating at the same time.

"Oh, still in the honeymoon phase. Adorable. Well, when are we going to have some babies on our little peninsula? The Schuberts a few houses down that way adopted a baby last year."

Dean choked. He fucking choked on his own spit. The casual laughing transition Castiel made as he slapped his back saved them from another awkward moment. When the hell did he become so smooth with playing the part of a married man?

A car pulled into the long driveway. Dean recognized Sam behind the wheel and his perma-grin of steel turned to a smile of relief at not having to answer the baby question. He checked out of the conversation immediately but vaguely heard Castiel explain that they were brothers. Kathleen smiled at Sam as he climbed out of his new car. He fished around the backseat until he produced a potted flowering plant with a ribbon around it.

What the hell. Dean cringed, desperate to feel something normal, not this domestic bliss that completely ransacked his world.

"Check it out," said Sam as he presented the plant to Castiel. "It's a baby tree. I figured you could start your garden. Housewarming gift."

"Thank you, Paul," replied Castiel, using Sam's alias with ease. He smiled broadly and accepted the plant - no, the _tree_ \- with a studious eye, already planning what to do with it.

Dean fantasized about ganking a demon. The blade cracking through the chest wall like a grapefruit and the demon slumping to the ground. Ahh, there we go. Something normal. Good stuff. Dean felt more like himself for a split second.

"I'll just leave you to get settled in," Kathleen announced jovially. "Let me know when you're all unpacked and you'll come by for supper one night, okay?"

"That would be nice," said Castiel.

They said goodbye and Kathleen trotted back across the street to whatever domestic universe spit her out on Dean's driveway. He clutched the blueberry cobbler possessively though. If she kept feeding him, it might not be so bad after all. But the urge to gank something - anything - still gripped him fiercely around the gut. He considered taking a case just to feel that rush and to feel like he had control over  _his_ life again. Seeing Castiel so at ease with giving up weighty universal battles or saving innocent lives freaked him out a bit as well. It made him wonder if he was just never going to be normal. And it wasn't like him to feel like a freak. That was Sam's territory.

"How's it going here?" asked Sam discreetly once Kathleen left.

The three of them headed back into the house together.

"It's going," Dean replied noncommittally.

"Dean spilled a gallon of paint in our bedroom and I'm experiencing difficulty with assembling furniture in the living room," added Castiel in his usual bluntly honest manner. It occurred to Dean that he really had been acting outside. He passed for human talking to Kathleen but he sounded just like the angel he used to be there with the brothers.

"I'll take a look, Cas," offered Sam.

"Thank you."

Dean led the way to the kitchen with the blueberry cobbler, but abruptly stopped in the doorway, his stomach dropping to the floor. He couldn't believe what he saw.

"What's up?" Sam maneuvered behind and peered over his shoulder.

"Dean?" probed Castiel.

He asked the question, but somehow he already knew. "Cas, did you make this mess?"

"Holy shit," Sam muttered as he pushed around Dean and strode cautiously into the kitchen.

Confused, Castiel spoke as if falsely accused. "I wasn't in the kitchen except once this morning. I made my cereal. You know, Frosted Flakes. Then I took it outside to the deck and ate it. I don't unders--" He stopped so abruptly next to Dean that his shoe squeaked on the linoleum. "--What in the world happened here?"

Every cabinet door, every drawer, and even the refrigerator all hung open as if someone ransacked the kitchen but didn't bother to put everything back in order. It came as a personal offense to Dean, who claimed the kitchen as his domain, determined to enjoy cooking while in domestic prison. Silverware and dishes looked like they had exploded all over the countertops.

The beach roses Castiel brought in from the shore early that morning scattered like bright pink stains on the floor, water spilling from the plastic cup he'd used as a temporary vase. Seeing his former angel crouch on the floor and almost mournfully collect the flower petals in the palm of his hand squeezed Dean's heart. It hurt.

"Intruder?" Sam whispered, fists balling up for a fight.

"No, we've been here all day." Moving past his brother, he knelt at Castiel's side, nearly behind him, and helped him pick up the mess. His tone turned private and comforting. "I'll get you more flowers, Cas."

Sam leaned over the sink and surveyed the yard through the window. Apparently, he found nothing suspicious, so he examined the doorways and floor. Dean knew he checked everything out like they did on any other hunt but he couldn't help as long as Castiel looked to unhappy. Clearly, the former angel worried so silently about something much bigger than ripped up beach roses. Dean's hand rubbed comforting circles over his back.

"No sulfur," announced Sam. "It's not demons."

It had to be asked. "Cas," began Dean privately, "would angels do this?"

"No." Emphatically, he shook his head. "We were here. If they found us, we would be dead right now."

"They wouldn't break our stuff as a warning?"

Castiel simply shook his head. He stood and pressed the pedal on the trashcan against the wall under his shoe. Pink beach rose petals and broken stems rained from his hands into the garbage. And then, wordlessly, he left the brothers alone in the kitchen. They heard the door to the deck overlooking their piece of Casco Bay open and shut, and exchanged glances.

"What do you think?" Dean sighed and rose to his feet.

"Looks like classic poltergeist activity." Together, they began cleaning up the mess. "Maybe it's a ghost. Poltergeist energy wouldn't survive in an abandoned house with no human stress to feed from, so my guess is a ghost."

"Great," muttered Dean. "Of course I move Cas into a haunted house."

"This is Maine, man. Everything's haunted." Shrugging, Sam collected all the scattered spoons. "Did he seem bothered to you?"

"Yeah," Dean conceded. "He hasn't dealt with this stuff being human yet, I guess. It probably scared him not being able to just  _see_ the house had something in it before we took the place. Normal people get scared."

"He seemed more sad than scared. I dunno. Maybe you're right."

The conversation ventured too close to the state of emotions for Dean. He redirected it back to what he knew. "What are we doing? Treating it like any case?"

"I guess so. Investigate, research, salt and burn. You didn't have anything weird happen while you slept here, right?"

Dean shook his head. "Nothing." Absently, his eyes shifted to the kitchen window to reassure himself that Castiel's figure still stood out there on the deck and he hadn't left.

"I got this. Go check on him," Sam urged.

"I can help clean up," he protested.

"Dean," Sam cut through his resistance, "go out there. Don't make me shove your ass out the door."

He sighed and grumbled but it sounded only half-hearted. "When did you get so smart anyway?"

"I've had more long-term relationships than you. Go."

They both knew Sam would have been married by now, maybe with a couple of kids too, if Dean hadn't dragged him back into the family business. All Dean ever wanted, the only thing that motivated him, was keeping his family together but it cost Sam dearly. Now it was costing both of them dearly to keep Castiel in the family.

Dean found Castiel on the edge of the deck staring out into Casco Bay. The downward slope of grass shifted from the house into rocks and pebbles down by their dock. It wasn't a beach of fine sand like in California or Florida. Ragged bushes sporadically grew near the shore and those bushes sprouted beautiful, delicate, fragrant beach roses, which Castiel took to immediately. Dark water lapped at the simple rowboat tethered to the dock and tall trees jutted up to the sky, thickly, around the houses further back from the shore.

"Hey," he murmured as his hands slid around Castiel's waist from behind, "you okay?"

Castiel nodded silently and bowed his head.

"C'mon, talk to me, Cas." He nuzzled the former angel's neck.

"I have never been taken by surprise by these things before. I took it quite seriously that I could detect anything wrong in a building for you - to protect you from it. Now I can't." His eyes lifted to the bay once more. "Sometimes I still have the luxury of forgetting I'm human now, but not anymore. Not after this. It's a ghost, isn't it?"

"Yeah, Sammy thinks so," Dean replied quietly.

An irritated huff passed from Castiel's tense mouth. "I can't protect you from something I can no longer detect."

Dean scoffed. "Ahh, whatever. You don't need to protect me. I'm a grown man, not a child."

Spinning to face Dean in his arms, Castiel slid his hands up the contours of his chest to his shoulders. "You still don't understand, do you?"

"Understand what?" Dean's arms tightened around his waist.

"Protecting you isn't about questioning your manhood or your ability to defend yourself. It's feeling the need in here," he patted the hunter's chest, "to look after someone you love. You've always protected Sam because you love him, just as he's done for you. Neither of you question the other's manhood. But it's different with me, isn't it? I'm not your brother. No, I reached another part of you. Perhaps you didn't know you had that part in you like other people. And perhaps that frightens you into believing my desire to look after you is an affront to your manhood because you're afraid other people won't see you as a real man either. I'm not an obligation like Sam. I'm a choice, yet you haven't completely chosen me. Only when strangers can't see us together."

It stung. No. It burned like jumping into a bonfire. "Cas--"

"--No, Dean. There's no need to argue. We both know you're struggling with the change in our bond." His strong hands framed Dean's equally strong jaw. An intensely loving kiss found their lips, mutual, yet chaste. It wasn't a sexual kiss but a certain kind of possessiveness claimed it as well. Finally, Castiel's deep blue eyes peered into his, and he whispered, "I'm a patient man, Dean. I intend to wait for you to wrestle these demons of yours. You're worth the wait."

"I'm not so sure about that." Dean's eyes dropped to Castiel's chest, unable to see the faith looking back at him.

"You are. You  _are_. Dean." Fingers gripped Dean's chin and jerked his face up again. "You're worth it. Say it."

"I ... I'm ..." It felt so ridiculous, yet he struggled to say it. He really didn't think he was worth much at all besides being a hunter and a killer. He drank too much. His temper was stupidly out of control most of the time. Nightmares of Hell and Purgatory still plagued him. Killers like him never deserved happiness.

"Dean, you  _are_ worth it to me."

He studied the age lines across Castiel's forehead and fanning out from around his eyes. "You're worth it to me, even if you think you're _just_ a human," he whispered.

"So what are we going to do, Dean?"

He let out an uncertain sigh. "Salt and burn, I guess. Then go fishing."

"I mean--"

"--I know what you mean," Dean replied with a shifted gaze.

"Do you love me or am I another obligation?" The question popped out of Castiel's mouth like a gunshot.

Dean leaned back as if avoiding that gunshot, but it hit him in the chest, and he had to respond. "Cas, you know you're not just an obligation. I wouldn't be here if I didn't..."

Eyebrows lifted questioningly and blue eyes took on a patient stillness. "If you didn't what...?"

"Cas..." The word came out like a whining appeal to stop the torture.

"Why can't you say it, Dean?" His tone sharpened.

"I ... I dunno." Shrugging, Dean backed away and took a deep breath, staring out at the bay. "I dunno."

For a long time, Castiel stood in perfect silence staring at Dean, who didn't meet that stare but could feel it pricking at his spine. He felt it and it had nothing to do with their fake marriage. They'd taken an existing relationship - a  _new_ relationship - and covered it over with a lie designed to protect Castiel's life. But it already got so murky. He knew how he'd always felt but saying it meant something. It  _meant something_. He'd be altering thirty five years of a man's history, as if that wasn't allowed.

"I'm going to see if Sam needs help," said Castiel dismally.

Dean turned on his heels. "Cas, wait."

But the former angel didn't wait. He passed through the doorway into the house, leaving Dean in the company of his demons outside.


	4. Catch and Release

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean's beginning to realize there's a lot more too being committed than good sex and hunting, even if it is a fake marriage. He has no idea how to grovel but he knows he's been putting Castiel through a lot of unnecessary hell and he feels bad. He's trying, but it quickly becomes clear that Castiel doesn't want anything except the truth and the effort it takes to show their bond without fear. Can Dean give him what he needs? Meanwhile, Sam is struggling to find his own identity living away from his brother, even though they still see each other all the time. He still finds himself using his free time to help Dean with research even though he promised himself he'd learn to have more fun. But his mood turns sour the more he has to work with a bitter, mouthy waitress at his new job bartending at Three Dollar Deweys. Is Sam ever going to find himself away from his brother's constant influence?

Dean felt bad.  _Really_ bad.

So bad, in fact, that he crawled out of bed before Castiel got up, and went out to the shore. That was a feat in itself, considering the former angel usually liked to get up with the sunrise. Like George Harrison, he'd once said with a prideful smile at his recent discoveries in music.

The air mattress on the floor sank a bit as Dean climbed to his feet. He waited a tense second. Castiel only sighed in his sleep and rolled over. Careful to avoid the squeaky floorboards in their unfinished bedroom, Dean put on sweatpants and a t-shirt, and headed downstairs. Outside, gray dawn covered Casco Bay like diluted paint over the moody bluish-gray seawater.

It was a nice, quiet place to live, Dean admitted to himself, so he didn't understand why that left him unsettled. The only consistencies in his life, though, besides Sam, were danger and the constant threat of death. He'd gotten used to them like old friends. Peace and quiet, though? He didn't know what to do with that.

And he took it out on Castiel, making him feel rejected, unloved, and a source of shame. In order to make it right, Dean knew he'd have to admit all of those things and confront them head-on, but he didn't have a clue of how to do that.

So he fixed the one thing he could handle.

Dean wandered the rocky shore until he found the green bush sprouting round, pink blossoms. They looked like the beach roses Castiel had raved about the day before, the ones lost to their mystery ghost destroying the kitchen. Truthfully, Dean wasn't sure if they were the right ones. Flowers weren't his thing, except grabbing an occasional bunch from the nearest convenience store to help seal the deal with a girl. Those days were long over for him, though, and it wasn't so bad. He broke a few stems and collected three beach roses from the bush.

Back in the house, he put the flowers in a glass of water the way Castiel had, and even sprinkled the flower food or whatever it was into the glass. He didn't know what the hell he was doing but he tried. At least Sam wasn't there to point and snicker.

Dean actually felt nervous as he took the beach roses upstairs. He was not the groveling type. At all. Hell, he didn't even know _how_ to grovel. Just the fact that he was trying should have told Castiel how important their relationship was to him. Sure, it had problems. Pretending to be married and living under aliases was chief among them, but they  _were_ together before faking it became necessary. He  _did_ have a problem being out in the open with their affection too. Castiel's accusations were true, and that was exactly why Dean had to grovel.  Not that he would ever admit to doing it though. He'd never get laid again if he didn't beg for forgiveness because Castiel was basically the only man on the planet who honestly equated sex with love.

"Cas." Dean ordered himself to quit stalling and climbed over to him on the air mattress. "Hey. You awake?"

"No, Dean. I'm talking in my sleep." With that, Castiel grabbed his pillow and covered his head like an ostrich in the sand.

Dean sighed, sitting back on his haunches. "C'mon, Cas."

"Is that the most meaningful thing you can say?" the pillow asked him.

"Well, I didn't like going to bed with a cold rock last night." Great, Dean. Way to make it worse.

"I didn't like it either," the pillow mumbled, "but then, you're not the source of shame here. You certainly slept well enough."

"Actually, I didn't," said Dean quietly, his tail firmly planted between his legs. His fingertips tapped the bottom of the glass and decided Castiel wasn't coming out willingly. So he grabbed a flower stem and fed the blossom under the pillow.

At first, the former angel ignored him, but Dean knew his curious nature well enough to wait. A hand groped around the stem, grabbing it and feeling out the shape of it.

"Dean, what are you doing?"

"I grabbed some of those beach things you liked. You know, the ones that got thrown yesterday." Please, please, let it put a crack in the angry cement under the pillow. "I think I cut up my foot out there if it makes you feel any better."

"A little..." he acquiesced. "I warned you not to go out there without shoes once already."

"I know."

The tangled blankets rustled and flipped, the pillow tossed on the floor, and Castiel suddenly appeared upright in front of Dean. His knee pulled up toward the ceiling with his arm folded defensively over it. Although his eyes flashed interest at the glass containing two beach roses, his countenance resisted forgiveness. Dean, oddly, had difficulty looking him in the eye.

"Dean, you can't just give me flowers and expect this problem to disappear," he said.

"I know."

"You have to make an effort."

"I know."

His thin, dark brow arched questioningly. "Do you?"

"Yeah!" The slight flair of temper felt hot in Dean's cheeks. That was not how he wanted it to go. Frustrated, a hand scrubbed down his face. He took a breath and slowed down. "Look, Cas, I know I'm not doing right by you, but I need you to understand. I was headed one direction for like thirty years, you know? Then I met you and it's like somebody blindfolded me and spun my ass around forty times and expected me not to be all dizzy and disoriented. That's where I am. I'm dizzy and disoriented and I'm trying to ... to ..." He struggled, searching for the right words. "My life isn't what I expected it to be. I need ..." The honesty was the hard part. "I need you to help me find the normal in all this. And I need to know that being with me, a hunter, won't get you killed, but you can't promise that any more than I can. That's a lot to swallow, I guess. It's a lot of change."

Castiel listened and absorbed everything he confessed with little expression or reaction. He nodded though. He understood. At least, Dean hoped he understood because prying that much truth out of himself was completely foreign and made him want to lie down and sleep for a month.

He folded his knees up and crossed his arms over them, adopting the kind of posture that mentally protected himself. From what though - fuck, he didn't have a clue.

"You could have said these things yesterday when I tried to talk to you instead of making me feel ... the way you did," said Castiel.

"I know," Dean replied, "and I'm sorry."

"That's a start." Castiel's voice finally softened, as did his posture, and he reached for Dean's hand. "Do you truly want to be with me or are you just trying to protect me?"

Dean took a deep breath and jumped into the deep end. "I do wanna be with you, Cas."

"Okay." The former angel nodded, though he still appeared tense. "I don't want to feel like you're ashamed of me, Dean. You're better than that. We've got enough to fight together and we can't be distracted by fighting with each other. So if you won't make me feel like you're ashamed of me, I won't make you feel guilty."

"Deal. Shake on it," replied Dean.

He spit on his hand and stuck it out to Castiel, who squinted and tilted his head, looking at Dean as if he'd lost his mind. A moment of hesitation and then the new human mimicked Dean, a tiny amount of spit on his palm, and they finally shook on it.

"You wanna go fishing with me today?"

"I don't kill things anymore," Castiel said.

"Okay, then you'll learn to catch and release. C'mon." Grabbing his hand, Dean pulled him out of bed.

*****

Even the research library set back from Congress Street looked like a historical landmark. Sam enjoyed the silence libraries provided in the middle of loud cities, not that Portland was a terribly busy place. The Maine Historical Society impressed him. He considered touring the Wadsworth-Longfellow House attached to it later too, if he had time.

Armed with a few property records from Dean and Castiel's house, Sam researched the names he found, looking for any strange deaths. So far, nothing interesting turned up. There had to be something though, or Dean wouldn't have had a ghost wrecking his kitchen. They weren't even living together anymore, and there Sam was, doing research and worrying more about his brother than himself. He didn't think that would ever change, really.

His cell phone alarm beeped and he grabbed the phone before it disturbed other people doing research. He had an hour and a half to get home, shower, and go to work for his second shift at the bar. Three Dollar Deweys on Commercial Street hired him right away, probably because his enormous size might deter drunks.

"Thank you," Sam said with a smile to the librarian as he handed over the books he'd used.

"Did you find what you needed, sir?" Her gray eyes appraised him from behind the counter. She played with the braid artfully arranged over her shoulder, cradling the books in her other arm.

He shook his head. "No, I gotta get to work."

"Okay, well, I'll save these books for you if you want to come back tomorrow. Just ask for Katie Bennet."

"Sure, thanks. I'm Paul Soule," he said, testing the sound of his alias on his tongue. He recognized her blatant flirtation and he winked at her, unable to help himself, really. She was cute and he wasn't leaving town the next day like usual. "See ya tomorrow, Katie."

"See ya, Paul," she replied with a wink of her own.

That one was almost too easy, Sam determined as he made the short drive back to his apartment on Carleton Street. She put it all up front and there wouldn't be any thrill of the chase with her, but he tucked her in his back pocket anyway, thinking maybe she would be fun anyway. Sam spent so long on the road with few breaks for himself. Despite still hung up on doing right for for brother, the little craving for fun did take root. It was pretty pathetic, though, thinking how guilty a little excitement in his life made him feel.

Sam took the foyer stairs two at a time up to his apartment in the refurbished old mansion. It had been somebody's family home in the nineteenth century but now several singles and young couples lived in the apartments around him. Generally, he kept to himself out of habit more than anything. Don't draw attention to yourself. Don't give people a reason to watch you.

He showered quickly and stood eating leftover Chinese takeout in the kitchen wearing his bath towel around his waist. That was one of the perks of living in his own place. He could walk around naked if it made him happy and Dean wasn't there to bitch.

Still, he kind of missed his brother stealing his laptop, or leaving food wrappers and dirty clothes everywhere, or watching Telemundo. Hell, he even missed the Dr. Sexy, MD marathons that Dean didn't realize he knew about. And he missed Castiel rambling about the history of apples, or the million other random things he witnessed in human history. Sometimes Sam's apartment was deafeningly silent.

He threw out the empty Chinese carton and put on a the dusty blue polo shirt and black slacks of his uniform. The people at Three Dollar Deweys were pretty cool and they never asked him to be a waiter. He mostly worked behind the bar, which was fine by him.

The lunchtime crowd was in full force downtown as many of the bars and restaurants opened their doors to tourists and college kids. Sam came to his place - they called it an alehouse in that area - and passed through the restaurant half toward the bar. Three Dollar Deweys appeared shadowy and dark even in daylight as the interior walls looked raw and unfinished with solid bricks. More brick archways led to the various dining and drinking areas, as well as space for live music. Everything about it felt old, but then again, everything in that part of Portland had an antiquated, haunted sensation about it.

"Hey, Paul! You're early! I like that," greeted Sam's manager, Harry.

"Hey, Harry," he greeted back as he tied the apron around his waist. "How's it going?"

"Another day, another three dollar." Harry laughed at his own joke.

A little storm cloud burst wide open in a torrential downpour of indiscernible swearing and growling as she made her way through the restaurant, past the bar, into the employee back room.

"Fuck men!  _Fuck_ men!" barked Wilhelmina, one of the waitresses.

"Hi," Sam said, smirking.

"Suck it,  _male_ ," she barked more.

Harry's balding head popped up from mopping the floor. "Hey! Language!"

"Nobody's here yet!" she barked from the back room. "I've had it! I've really had it this time!"

It amused Sam. He laughed into the cash register as he set up his tray for the day. Only on his second shift, he remembered Wilhelmina best from his first one. When Harry had left Sam in charge for an hour, he'd questioned her about wearing a black miniskirt with her uniform shirt and she sassed him into submission, saying he'd get better tips if he wore miniskirts too. He instantly liked her, but she dubbed him Prude Boy.

"What'd Mark do now?" muttered Harry, kicking the mop bucket to a dry patch on the floor. He glanced at Sam and rolled his eyes. "They're breaking up and getting back together like every week."

"Not that often. Geez." Wilhelmina slammed the swinging door and emerged into the bar. She tied a heavy, long mess of black hair into a ponytail high on her head. "I busted him flirting with the produce girl this morning. The  _produce_ girl. I mean, really? Asshole. I'm thinking of telling him to bug off permanently." She gestured to her figure. "I'm a catch, right? He needs to recognize what he's throwing away."

"Don't let a guy disrespect you like that," Sam offered quietly as he counted out a stack of ones. "You let 'em do that and they just think it's allowed. Put him in his place."

Black eyes watched him, sideways, and her quick fingers worked a knife through fruit for drinks. Sam guessed she was at least a quarter Native American. Maybe half. That kind of background intrigued him but asking questions reminded him of charming a snake in a basket. One wrong question and he expected to lose a testicle. Sure, they hadn't been used in a while, but he still liked them well enough to want to keep them.

"Well, aren't you a modern Mr. Darcy?" she sneered.

"At least I'm grateful when people try to be nice to me," he shot back, suddenly irritated.

"Oooh, _ouch_." The corner of her mouth turned up, not amused but quite bitter, in fact.

*****

A lone rowboat rocked gently in the waves of Casco Bay. The sun dipped lower toward the horizon, below the tree line, and anyone on the shore might have guessed the boat floated away without manpower. A pair of fishing poles leaned over the edge but the lines drifted unattended in the water.

Dean spread on his back in the bottom of the boat, his feet propped up on one of the benches. He drifted through that foggy place between sleep and consciousness as his fingers lazily played with hair. Castiel's limbs felt relaxed and heavy tangled up around Dean's body. His head pillowed on Dean's chest and he too seemed to enjoy that quiet, dreamy place of human twilight. And Dean thought he never felt so relaxed without being fall down drunk. Analyzing it too much might break the spell though.

"Shouldn't we check the fishing line?" murmured Castiel against his chest.

"Yep," Dean murmured back. "I'm getting up."

"Okay..."

"Okay..."

Neither one of them moved for another hour.


	5. Pre-School Angel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> During his first outing on his own, Castiel meets a woman named Jenna at the grocery store who he instantly befriends. She offers to help him get a job that really piques his interest, but how will Dean react? That night, Dean and Castiel take Jenna out to Three Dollar Deweys to see where Sam works. It's a good test run for their relationship but Dean can't quite acclimate to it and feels rather out of place. After local ale, pizza, and an unpleasant with Wilhelmina the waitress, they go home for the night. All seems well until the ghost plaguing their house takes an opportunity to attack Castiel. Is the ghost out for blood?

"Dean!" It was Castiel's standard greeting anymore. Not hello. Not hey what's up like normal people. He always shouted Dean's name as if his latest human discoveries were the most exciting things in the world.

"Hey. I finished painting upstairs. Don't touch the walls. How'd you make out at the store?" Dean asked, meeting him at the back door.

"It's not a very big store but I can walk there. I met a rather friendly lady when I was trying to find the laundry detergent you wanted. She lives on the next peninsula over that way." He shifted the full brown paper bag in his arm and pointed toward the east.

"Should I be jealous of you meeting chicks at the store?" Dean jabbed playfully as he unloaded a bag on the kitchen counter.

"She's married, Dean," he replied. "Her husband's deployed in Afghanistan at the moment."

"Lonely housewife syndrome."

Castiel actually got the joke and chuckled while he arranged things in the refrigerator. "Not exactly. She's a pre-school teacher. I told her it was a noble profession and I was looking for a noble profession as well. One thing led to another and she offered to help me get a job as an assistant in her classroom." He eyed Dean, searching his face for any signs of approval or disapproval. "So maybe if I find it fulfilling, I'll become a pre-school teacher too. Or kindergarten. Or high school." His face briefly soured. "No, not high school."

Dean gaped at him in disbelief. "You leave the house for an hour and a half and you come back with food and a job?"

"Yes," he admitted.

Silence engulfed the kitchen. Castiel folded his arms over his chest and peered at Dean, clearly unwilling to back down from that pre-school idea. He would probably be great at it. People usually felt comforted around Castiel once they got him talking. Little kids would probably love him, not that Dean guessed he knew much about them. Dean himself knew a little bit about babies, but he got lost once they started walking and talking.

"Dean?"

"Well ... did you remember the pie?" He offered a lopsided smile, letting Castiel know that it was okay.

Relief relaxed Castiel's shoulders and he mimicked the lopsided smile as well. "Yes, I got you pie. You know, it would be more cost effective to make pie instead of buying readymade ones. I'm going to learn."

"You're going to bake?" A creeping smile threatened Dean's lips.

Castiel shrugged. "How difficult can it be?"

"Holy shit, I love you!" The words tumbled out of Dean's mouth before he realized what the exuberant phrase implied.

Both he and Castiel froze and stared at each other in a moment precariously suspended. It appeared neither of them had the balls to acknowledge or ignore what he said. Did he mean it as a joke? Was he serious? Dean certainly felt it but he didn't know how it sneaked past his internal barriers.

A casual half-smile appeared on Castiel's lips. "If that's all it took, I would have begun baking months ago."

Oh, thank God he didn't get all serious and touchy-feely. Dean smiled. Hell, he even chuckled. More importantly, he realized Castiel knew him,  _really_ knew him, and understood how to judge the moment.

"Just don't burn down the house," he warned teasingly. As he headed out of the kitchen, he added, "I'm gonna shower up. Sammy's wanting us down at his new job for dinner."

"I love you too, Dean."

The voice, distant in the kitchen, dropped Dean's stomach and he stopped short like he might have stepped on it. He waited, mostly thinking of how to respond in such uncharted waters, but then he heard rustling bags and cartons. Castiel went on with cleaning up the kitchen, which let Dean off the hook. He never expected a reply at all. Dean's head fell, the weight of Castiel's patience dragging him backwards toward the kitchen again. He leaned against the doorway for a long moment and watched his former angel divide up the raw meat into smaller portions for the freezer.

"Hey..."

Castiel glanced over his shoulder.

"It's true, you know. What I said."

"I know," replied Castiel, nodding.

"Okay." Dean nodded too. "Just checking." He started to leave again, until a thought occurred to him. "You should invite that lady out with us. It can't hurt since she's getting you that job."

"I'll call her then." The former angel smiled to himself and returned to cleaning up the kitchen.

And as Dean hid in the shower, he braced himself for the night ahead. He wanted Castiel to like human life, or at least not loathe his fall from grace, and that meant letting him have goals. The idea of having dinner with his new friend like he'd never been an angel or Dean had never been a hunter felt completely alien, but it made Castiel smile.

Unfortunately, Dean was a sucker for that smile.

*****

"Wow, your brother really works here? This place is the best alehouse in the city if you ask me."

Her name was Jenna Malloy and she craned her face up toward the tall Three Dollar Deweys sign on the corner of Commercial and Union. The old brick building was situated a stone's throw from wharfs lined parallel with each other. A constant cool breeze of sea air mixed with fresh fish, steamers, and lobster flowed into the city from those old wharfs.

Dean opened the door for both Jenna and Castiel, who had chattered constantly for the entire drive to Portland. She was nice enough, but Dean just didn't have a clue of how to socialize without trying to get intel or trying to get laid.

He spotted Sam busy behind the bar and looking quite at home.

"Hey, Paul!" he shouted as they approached. "We've got shoes, we've got shirts, we want service!"

Sam smiled wide and somewhat embarrassed as Dean slapped the bar and pulled up a stool. Both Castiel and Jenna pulled up stools with him. She looked positively thrilled to be out of the house at all.

"How's it going, guys? Who's this?"

"This is my new friend, Jenna Malloy," said Castiel. "Jenna, this is Mike's brother, Paul."

"Hi, Paul."

Sam shook her hand over the bar. "Hi. What's everybody drinking?"

"Stella Artois, please," ordered Jenna.

"Pint or pitcher?"

"Oh." She gave a bubbly sort of laugh. "Just a pint. I'm not a drinker."

"Something local," Dean said.

Sam nodded. "Shipyard's pretty good. Chamberlain pale ale."

"Great. Roll out the pitcher. That cool with you, Nick?" Jesus, he wondered if he'd ever get used to the aliases.

"Yes," Castiel agreed.

As Sam expertly moved behind the bar filling their orders, Dean did his best to be present in the socializing expected of him. It felt weird, though, and he didn't know how to simply be normal and enjoy a night out. The dozen lock picks and weapons hidden in his clothes probably didn't help his attempt at normalcy either.

"So tell me, Nick, have you ever worked with kids?" Jenna asked.

"I've worked ... healing kids," he carefully replied.

Her head tilted with interested. "Oh, like nursing?"

"More like volunteering." A cautious glance passed over Dean.

"Well, that'll be helpful. Do you think you might want to get a degree in early childhood education?"

"Possibly. It depends on whether the children take to me as an assistant in your classroom. I know I want to do something meaningful and noble like what you do. I just don't know where I fit yet."

"I admire your gentility," replied Jenna, "so I think the kids will like you. You ought to come down to the school and fill out an application. I'll meet you there. We'll get you interviewed and start the background checks. Hopefully you'll be hired for the new school year if this is something you might want to do."

Gentility. Dean nearly smirked. That little idealistic woman clearly never saw Castiel smite demons, angels, or monsters.

Sam reappeared with the pitcher of Shipyard and glasses for Dean and Castiel, and the pint of Stella for Jenna. He also produced three menus, saying they could eat at the bar since they were with him technically. Fine by Dean. He almost never turned down an opportunity to eat.

"Ohh, we could split a pizza," Jenna suggested, flipping the menu over.

Castiel flipped over his menu as well. "I've never had pizza."

"Never?!"

The innocent comment stopped everything about Jenna's presence. She gaped at Castiel, and Sam chuckled from the other end of the bar. Poor Castiel had no clue what social faux pas he made. His eyes shot to Dean for guidance.

Dean, in turn, blurted the first lie that came to mind. "His parents were really strict. They sent him to Catholic schools and stuff. He was gonna be a priest until he realized..." He lightly smirked and lifted his left hand to show his wedding ring. "There's a lot he hasn't tried yet because he was so sheltered. Isn't that right, honey?"

A thin smile answered Dean. "Yes, dear."

Somewhere in the bar, Sam cackled.

"Well, we definitely need a pizza then," declared Jenna. "What do you think, Mike? Meat or veggies?"

"Definitely meat," said Dean.

A woman whipped around the bar, black hair streaming, and a steady stream of grumbling flowed from her mouth. "Paul!"

"What?" Sam filled a glass with ice but glanced at her.

"I need your muscles. Some dickwad by the door keeps grabbing my ass. I told him to leave and he said make me. So I'm making you make him since you're like eight feet tall. Get on it or I'm gonna rip his ball hair off one at a time. You don't want me to handle this." She braced a hand on the bar near Dean while the other fanned her face with a receipt pad.

"I got it," Sam replied in a much calmer tone. "Go take your break."

The woman eagerly disappeared into a back room and Sam let out a sigh as soon as she left. Strain in his eyes deepened wrinkles that just barely began to form on his face.

"Who the hell is that?" asked Dean, quieter, more brotherly.

"Wilhelmina," Sam muttered. "One of the waitresses."

"She suffers a great deal in private. Be patient, Paul." Reading the menu so casually, Castiel made the comment as if speaking of the weather.

"Do you know her?" The curious tone Jenna used seemed innocent.

"No," replied Castiel. "I saw it in her eyes."

"Oh..."

*****

"The priesthood? Really, Dean?" Castiel jabbed as he flipped on the nearest light by their front door.

"It was the quickest thing I could think of. Priests serve God, right? That's kinda what you did." It sounded reasonable enough. He peeled off his thin army green jacket and hung it on the peg. "She bought it anyway."

"It might explain my lack of employment history," he conceded.

"There you go. Could you believe that chick Sammy's working with?" As Dean chatted, he carried the leftover pizza box to the kitchen.

"I felt sorry for her."

"You psychic now?" called Dean, leaning into the fridge.

"No, Dean. It's just observation. One human isn't so different from another when they hide their suffering. She turns it into anger. I just hope Sam is kind to her."

"My brother's nice to everyone."

Furniture crashed and glass shattered in the living room. Dean's spine pricked, suddenly hypersensitive to their surroundings. "Cas?" he shouted as he shut the refrigerator door and reached for a blade concealed in his pocket. "Cas? You okay?"

No answer came and Dean bolted into the living room. Broken shards of colored glass registered in his mind as the lamp that stood on the end table by the couch. His eyes traveled to that direction, following the broken shards on the hardwood floor. Castiel struggled on all floors to get up. He appeared entangled with the end table, which flung outward from his body on its side.

"What happened? You hurt?" Dean rushed to his side and grabbed his arm and his waist. Bits of glass stuck out of Castiel's bloody palm. "Shit. You're bleeding."

"I got pushed into the table," he mumbled, clearly stunned.

"Pushed how?"

"I don't know, Dean! Somebody's hands pushed me."

Nobody was in the house but them. Dean had been around enough criminals to feel out breaking and entering without seeing it. He'd also been around enough ghosts to know a haunted house for certain without seeing it, despite living in a sort of happy denial about his own home. Going after Castiel though? Hell no. It was done.

"Fuck," he muttered. "We gotta figure out why this place has a ghost. You can walk, right?"

"Yes." Castiel nodded, appraising his shredded palm.

"C'mon. It'll be easier to pick out the glass in the bathroom." He helped the former angel to his feet and provided a steady grip on his wrist.

"Human pain is peculiar, Dean. Very consuming." As they headed for the bathroom upstairs, Castiel's arm tensed. " _Oww_ , Dean. It hurts a lot."

It really wasn't funny being attacked by a ghost but Castiel's reaction to human pain forced a smile out of Dean against his will. "You know who whines, Cas? Babies."

Blue eyes sharply squinted at him and his mouth curled in defiance.

"Holy shit. You look like Sammy when you do that."


	6. Hunter, Bartender, Candlestick Maker

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes being so kind-hearted gets Sam into situations he doesn't need, like giving snotty Wilhelmina a ride home and discovering she has reasons to be such a brat. And despite living on his own, he still finds himself instantly obeying Dean when he calls. The ghost in Dean's house tried to really hurt Castiel last night, and on top of that, Charlie appears on his doorstep at 5 am with strangle marks around her neck. Not even Castiel can get her to talk about it. Sam's got his hands full again. Who's the ghost in Dean's house? And how did Charlie get hurt?

Two-thirty in the morning brought a chill to the air over Portland, even in summertime, apparently. Sam glanced to the sky as he emerged from Three Dollar Deweys and half-expected to see snow clouds rolling across the horizon. Of course, that was a ridiculous thought in July, but he hadn't lived so far north in his whole life either.

"Are you fucking serious? What am I supposed to do downtown?"

Sam unlocked his car but stopped as Wilhelmina caught his attention, standing on the street corner and snarling at whoever was on the other end of her phone. He guessed it was that problematic boyfriend, Mark, or whatever. Her voice's tone always deepened toward that guy as if she tried to assert her own strength. But she didn't sound much like her typical bravado then. She sounded genuinely upset and the wrinkles of distress between her eyes backed up the theory.

"God damn it." Wilhelmina rolled her black eyes. "Well, you have a fantastic night with your boys then."

The second she ended the call - without a goodbye - she huffed loudly and stomped her high heel into the sidewalk. Sam really wanted to go to bed. Like, he really, really needed sleep, but...

"You need a ride?" he heard himself ask.

Wilhelmina turned, startled, and her face tilted under the streetlight. "You don't have some booty call to get to?"

"Okay, never mind." With an eye roll of his own, he swung a leg into his car.

"Wait!"

Sam halted and folded his arms over his chest with an arched brow, waiting in controlled silence.

"My idiot boyfriend got drunk and can't drive," she admitted.

"Uh-huh," Sam said with a nod as if she should elaborate.

The other high heel stomped into the sidewalk that time. "So can I have that ride or what?"

"Hmm." A fingertip tapped his chin as he pretended to consider her request. "What's the magic word?"

"Bite me."

"No, that's two words. We're looking for a _puh_ and a _leeze_ here." It was much more fun than he anticipated making her squirm like that. Sort of like playing with a snake in a basket.

"Come on, Paul." A deeply annoyed, exhausted sigh filled the night air around her.

He smiled, just faintly, and lazily rested his arms over the roof of his car. Being that tall meant he often lounged on the strangest things. But he knew he could get a please out of her, if only for his own fun. Toying with her entertained him more than it should have, probably, but she made it so easy to wind her up over the smallest things.

Again, she rolled her eyes as if it was her automatic response to anything that made her uncomfortable. "Okay, fine." She stuffed her phone in her bag and tugged it over her shoulder. "Please, oh please, grace me with the honor of a ride home in your pretty, pretty car."

"Yeah, okay. Get in." Victorious, Sam happily smirked and fell into the driver's seat as she got into the passenger seat. "Where are we going?"

"Take High to Park Avenue. That becomes Congress, which turns into 22 after that, and I'm on Saco about four miles out from there." She spoke in a business tone but her head leaned back on the seat, giving her a weary, drained appearance. She didn't even mess with her phone like she did every chance she had, checking for texts and voice mail.

The stillness in her body nearly tricked Sam into believing he sat alone in his car, all except her faint spicy perfume. He glanced at her strong profile every now and then, probably not as inconspicuous as he hoped, but her high cheekbones and black eyes gave her a ghostly aura in the passing headlights. Something in her expression seemed so deeply hidden that perhaps she couldn't even touch her own worries through the anger. She reminded him of Dean, he realized all too suddenly. The silence irritated him. He flicked on the radio and let the low, constant noise of commercials and music fill the car.

A twenty minute drive led to a somewhat wooded, poor section of the neighboring town. Sam wondered if he made a wrong turn somewhere as the houses continually got smaller and spaced further apart until they entered a cluster of mobile homes. Some were well cared for and simply resembled narrow ranch style homes, while others sat amid the squalor that would probably embarrass any self-respecting redneck.

"That one up there with the bushes around the porch," she said.

"Okay," he replied, suddenly filled with questions that he couldn't ask. One was a matter of practicality though. "Is he home? I mean, you gonna be okay?" He parked in front of one of the cleaner mobile homes.

Wilhelmina smirked. "I can take care of myself. And anyway, Mark doesn't live with me."

"Oh... You gonna be okay then?"

She gave him the side eye. "You already said that."

"Right."

"Right," she mimicked. "Hell, Paul, it's not The Ritz, but it's mine and it's better than the reservation. My mom, my sister, and the babies live here with me too."

That surprised Sam and he cast eyes her way, brows furrowed. "All of you in this little place? Wait, what do you mean reservation?"

Laughing suddenly, features brighter in the dashboard lights, Wilhelmina pointed to herself and shrugged. "Oh Pauly, Pauly, Pauly, can't you tell I'm a half-breed?"

The way she spoke about herself nearly knocked Sam back into the door. "Wow, _that's_ not derogatory at all." He honestly didn't know how to react to someone using such an old, awful slur against themselves. "No, I never really thought about it. I mean, I don't ... don't think about people's races. It just doesn't matter."

"It's easy to say that when you're an educated, gainfully employed, 30-something white man. It matters to the people who called me Apple my whole childhood," she explained with that defensive bite nipping at her words again.

"Apple?"

"You know, red on the outside, white on the inside." Her eyebrow, shaped to a perfect arch, rose higher above her eye as if he should have immediately understood.

And he did understand. It was the worst racial slur he'd heard in a long time and he simply didn't want to know who could conjure up such a hateful word. "That's awful," he mumbled low toward the steering wheel, his grip tightening in anger. Such injustices always burrowed under his skin and gnawed at him.

"Yeah, well, it is what it is. Fuck 'em. Anyway, thanks for the ride. You can find your way back, right?"

"Yeah," he replied, nodding. "Have a good night."

"Night, Paul." Wilhelmina flashed the briefest smile of gratitude. She hopped out of his car and, with her bag dangling from one of her outstretched arms, traipsed around the puddles leading up her front walk. Lights shone through the front door as she let herself into the narrow mobile home. All hers, she'd said. It was all hers.

*****

Sam fumbled under the pillow for his phone. "Dean," he grumbled, "it's not even nine yet. I didn't get home until after three. The hell do you want?"

"You gotta get up here," Dean said. "The ghost attacked Cas last night. I ended up taking him to a clinic to stitch up his hand and wrist. Fuckin' thing tried to slice his artery. You know that one in the wrist when people kill themselves."

"Radial artery." Rolling on his back, Sam stretched and rubbed his eyes.

"Nerd."

"Shut up. Is he okay?"

He heard Dean sigh through the phone. "Yeah, I think so. He's still asleep. We gotta salt and burn this thing, Sammy. Quick. I can't afford to move right now."

"Yeah. I'm getting up," he said reluctantly.

"One more thing."

"What?"

"Charlie's here," said Dean. "She showed up around five this morning. She's crashed out on the couch. I think there's something going on."

"Don't let her leave then." With that news, Sam quickly got out of bed and groped around the floor for passable clothes. "Did she say anything? Was she followed?"

"No, she's been quiet. Like eerie quiet. There are bruises on her neck."

"I'm on my way."

*****

The younger Winchester arrived with enough Egg McMuffins and hasbrowns to feed an army, guessing that his brother didn't have time to cook. Sam found the house in a weird quiet state of chaos. The atmosphere instantly got his fur up.

"Awesome. Food," said Dean exuberantly as he took a bag.

They passed through the living room into the kitchen. Sam watched Dean pull plates and glasses down from the cabinet, which turned his face in confusion.

"Since when do you put McDonald's on plates?"

Dean smirked as he unwrapped four sets of breakfasts. "Since I got a dining room table and a dishwasher. No food on my couch."

"Huh. Cas got a job first and you're arranging fast food on matching plates. I figured he would've been the wife here. Who knew." It amused Sam so much that he considered taking a sneak picture on his phone if it wouldn't surely get him punched.

"Suck my dick," Dean muttered.

"No, I think you've got a volunteer for that. Don't get greedy." And with that, Sam ducked as an empty McDonald's cup sailed past his head.

"Make yourself useful. Go get Cas and Charlie out there."

Sam followed the direction of Dean's finger to the back door opening onto an open deck. Steps spilled from the deck down to a path on the shore and their own dock in Casco Bay. Castiel and Charlie sat cross-legged together on the deck, heads bent and voices low in private conversation. Before he made his presence known, Sam quickly appraised the extensive bandages wrapped around Castiel's wrist and hand, as well as the bruises dotting Charlie's neck. She had been strangled, he guessed by the finger-shaped marks.

"Hey, guys," Sam greeted as he squatted between them.

Castiel squinted through the sun, looking up to him with a soft smile. "Good morning, Sam."

"Hey, you big moose," said Charlie. Emotion hitched her throat. She squirmed around on her knees and threw her arms around his neck, tightly squeezing him. It felt like relief and fear all at once.

Silently, Castiel draped his bandaged hand on her shoulder and met eyes with Sam. He clearly knew what happened.

"I brought breakfast," he said, hoping his voice didn't betray his worry.

Abruptly, Charlie let go of his neck, saying, "Great. I'm starving," as she skipped into the house.

Sam took the opportunity of being alone. He watched Castiel try to get up from the deck without using his injured hand. "You okay, Cas?" he asked soberly. "Is she okay?"

"I'm fine, Sam. My hand will heal. I'll have scars but Dean says he likes scars. It makes me look tough, whatever that means."

The younger brother snorted.

"Sam," began Castiel again, "when I embraced Charlie this morning, her clothes smelled of sulfur."

That stiffened Sam's body and cleared his mind immediately. "Demons."

"Yes. I believe so.  I have been unsuccessful at convincing her to tell me what happened. Dean put holy water in her drink this morning but she didn't react to it, so she's not possessed."

"At least there's that," Sam mumbled.

The former angel nodded, new wrinkles of concern forming around his eyes. "I don't know what they did to her but I know what they're capable of, which is what frightens me. I've told Dean that I want to keep her here until it's resolved. She has no family."

"She has ours."

That brought a faint smile to Castiel's mouth. "I feel responsible."

"It's not your fault demons got to her," Sam argued.

"You're kind, Sam, but everything's out of balance because of me. Now Charlie has been hurt. If something happens to you or ... or Dean, I don't..." Castiel sharply shook his head and swallowed hard. He looked away, scanning the surface of the stormy blue bay occasionally interrupted by trees shielding the house.

The sight of blatant, raw emotion fighting its way to the surface in Castiel looked so foreign and unnerving to Sam that he nearly couldn't watch it. "Let's tackle one thing at a time, okay? Charlie's here, so she's safe. We'll get her to talk soon. But we've got to take care of this ghost here first before somebody else gets hurt." He let himself smirk a bit. "Going after Dean's just gonna piss him off and he'll burn the place down trying to gank it."

Castiel allowed a smirk too. "Yes, that's true. He's pleased with this house though. He won't say so but I can tell."

"I know." Sam nodded, leaning in as if sharing a secret. "Right now, he's serving McDonald's on real plates and glasses, real silverware - the works. And he's making us eat at the _table_. Who  _does_ that?"

Unblinking and completely serious, Castiel replied, "Families do, Sam."


	7. Charlie, The Lady of the House

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Charlie and Castiel have become instant best friends as she teaches him to make the secret pie her mother used to make. And with Sam up at Dean's place for the day, they have the chance for a real family dinner. Despite the seemingly domestic bliss in Maine, they all know Charlie is running away from something that Dean decides he needs to get out of her sooner rather than later. Nothing could possibly prepare him for what she confesses though. (Note: If anyone is triggered by discussion of rape, you might want to prepare yourself for this chapter. Nothing was actually depicted, nor will it be in future chapters. It was just discussed.)

The light, airy sound of female laughter attracted Dean to the kitchen in spite of Sam hilariously yelling at the football game on television in the living room. Dean found himself restless more and more since they moved into that house, mostly because he and Castiel weren't alone in it.

He found Charlie and Castiel in the kitchen bent over a ball of dough. She pointed at it and murmured instructions that Dean couldn't hear. The former angel nodded and awkwardly worked his hands through the dough, slowly solidifying it a little more. She nodded encouragingly, the thin smile in stark contrast to the strangling bruises dotting her neck. Castiel noticed Dean in the doorway as he rubbed his floury hands on an apron tied over his clothes.

"Is the football game over?" he asked lightly.

"No. Sammy's ready to start throwing things at the TV though."

Castiel frowned and Charlie's body tilted backwards with laughter.

"What are you two doing in here?" Dean asked, folding his arms over his chest and leaning against the door frame.

"Pie crust," announced Castiel. He held up a ball of dough.

Dean's curious eyes shifted to the redhead. “You know how to bake?”

"Believe it or not, I do know how to do stuff not taught at a Comic Con panel." She flashed a smile at Dean as she waved a rolling pin at him. "You're gonna thank me for this. Mom's pie was famous. Now you and Cas gotta have a kid so you can pass it on. This pie stays in the family or I'm gonna haunt your asses when I'm gone."

A silent smile creased Castiel's mouth without looking up from his pie crust dough. He took the rolling pin from Charlie and she sprinkled flour on it as well as the counter. Dean couldn't believe she became the second person in a week to pressure him into having a kid. Was there some law about reproducing the second you got married? Hell, their marriage wasn't even real. And hunters didn't have kids. They didn't get married either. Why the hell did Castiel smile about it?

"Oh, Dean, I was thinking about your ghost problem," Charlie said.

"Yeah?" Thank God for her quick mind shifting topics.

"It's not happening every day, right?"

"Right."

Charlie nodded. “Then it's not here all the time, which means it's a transient haunting.”

"Like a hobo?" Dean smirked.

"You're so witty. No. I mean it comes and goes. It's not specifically bound to this property. I bet if you ask people all up and down this peninsula, they'll have weird experiences too."

"Not likely." Sam appeared, pushing past Dean into the kitchen for the refrigerator. "People up here, they're a little weird. They keep to themselves and they don't really want to dish out their household stuff to outsiders like us." He took a beer for himself and handed more out to the others, though Castiel refused. "Cooking, Cas?"

"Charlie's teaching me to make the secret pie." Intense concentration barely registered his response as he flattened the pie crust dough under the rolling pin. His tongue poked out from the corner of his mouth.

"Secret pie?" Sam's eyebrow arched questioningly.

"My mom had a secret recipe and now Cas is gonna use it," she said.

She hadn't spoken of her mother in quite some time. Dean wondered how she could speak of something that painful, yet not be able to tell them how she was hurt and how she ended up on his doorstep. Although Castiel had convinced them to let her confess on her own time, he began questioning the wisdom in that. Whatever found her once could easily find her again, except then, he'd have to fight with limited knowledge. That simply couldn't work.

*****

"Who knew Dean could cook like this?" Charlie licked the gravy from her spoon at the dinner table.

Dean rolled his eyes and swallowed a measure from his beer bottle. “It's just a casserole. Chicken, rice, broccoli, and cheese. No big deal.”

"Said every soccer mom ever."

Throwing his head back with a deep belly laugh, Sam slapped his leg and Dean glared at him. Truth be told, he _did_ enjoy having a table to feed everybody at whenever they could get together. Sam had a rare night off work and Dean fed him the casserole he'd learned to make when they were kids. He remembered that motel and the older woman who lived there. She had realized all too quickly that those kids were alone much of the time, so she began feeding them, and Dean learned alongside her. He was only ten or so, but he always did whatever it took to keep Sam fed and healthy.

Only Castiel's tall figure emerging from the kitchen carrying his first pie yanked Dean out of less than pleasant childhood memories. He almost appeared fully human in an untucked blue button-down shirt and jeans, as if he'd never been an angel at all. His eyes quickly shifted around the table with a small, shy sort of smile as he put his finished pie down in the center of all of them.

"Looks amazing, Cas," encouraged Sam as he passed around smaller plates and clean forks.

"Well, we haven't tasted it yet," replied Castiel sheepishly.

"Hey, hey, hey! It's not possible to mess up Mom's pie."

Silently, Dean observed Charlie across the table. She watched Sam and Castiel cut up the pie evenly between them all with a satisfied little smile playing her lips. Some of her attitude, her ability to make jokes out of shitty situations, suffocated and died under the weight of whatever happened to her. Some of it was still there. But a new darkness shaded her green eyes. She pushed her flaming red hair behind her ear but her fingers combed down the length, whether consciously or unconsciously, to cover some of the worst bruising around the side of her throat.

Just as Dean decided to point blank ask her what happened and force it out of her, Castiel placed a slice of pie in front of him. Then his loyalties were tangled. Pie vs the sister he never wanted. Shit. Well, she'd still be there after they finished eating, right?

He shoveled in the first bite without ice cream. The warm sweetness of apples cut the tart flavor of cranberries, both surrounded by a flaky crust like nothing he bought in grocery stores. There really was something about homemade pie that took him back to his mother's kitchen, where his pie obsession originated. It had been their thing together, Dean sitting on the counter mixing pie filling with a wooden spoon, but not really contributing much as a toddler.

"Oh my God," he groaned, sinking back into his chair.

Castiel tilted his head. “I don't understand. Is that a positive response?”

"It's good, Cas," said Sam, chuckling. "He's going into a pie coma."

"It's better than sex," Dean groaned again through another bite.

Harshly squinted blue eyes shot up to Dean from his plate.

Dean laughed into his fist. “Okay, okay, _almost_ better than sex.”

"Please, please don't elaborate," grumbled Sam between bites. His body jumped slightly, startled, and he fished through his jeans pocket for his cell phone. He said, "I gotta take this call," and quickly escaped the house for the back deck without waiting for a response.

"He got a lady moose already?" Charlie asked curiously.

"Maybe," Dean replied, shrugging. "He mentioned some girl hitting on him in the library."

"Oh my God, that's _so_ Sam, isn't it?” Charlie enthused over her pie.

"But did he not meet a lady at the bar as well?" added Castiel.

"Oh shit, not her." Emphatically, Dean shook his head. "They'd kill each other. Her balls are bigger than his. She'd run him the hell over." He heard the back door open and cleared his throat with a discreet finger to his mouth to silence the others.

"Sorry, guys. I gotta run," Sam announced as he grabbed his plates and silverware for the sink.

"Booty call?" Dean teased.

"Shut up. Not even close. Just a ride thing." As Sam rushed through the dining room again, he gave Charlie a quick squeeze around the shoulders from behind. "You guys come on down to the city tomorrow. We'll figure out what's haunting this peninsula. Bye, guys."

"Later, Sammy."

"Goodbye, Sam."

"Peace out, Moose."

Dean scraped the last bite from his plate. He noticed the contemplative quiet fall over Charlie again as Castiel dutifully collected dirty dishes for the kitchen. Their company having left, even if it was just Sam, seemed to tear away the cheerful mask she'd worn all night. He watched in silence as she spooned ice cream into her mouth directly from the carton.

"You want a drink?" offered Dean in a more intimate tone.

"I don't like beer," she replied.

"No, I mean something with a bigger punch. C'mon." He stood and stuck his hand out to her.

Dean led Charlie through the house by the hand. He knew how to do the big brother thing whether the little sibling was a boy or a girl. He'd put his whiskey bottle with glasses on a desk by the panoramic living room window, having decided that was his best spot in the house. For each of them, he poured solid doubles. Somehow he knew the conversation he needed to have warranted such strong drinks.

He took her out to a pair of patio chairs on the back deck and hoped Castiel would catch on that the conversation needed to happen between them alone. Dean knew a special bond developed almost immediately between he and Charlie, and if anybody could get the truth out of her, it had to be him. Cool sea air rolled in from Casco Bay and the stars glittered brightly without city lights to drown them out. He let the moment pass in silence, occasionally sipping from his glass. Sure, he could have downed the whole thing in one mouthful, but Charlie didn't seem too sure about whiskey yet. He needed to keep a clear head as well.

"Are we having a broment?" she asked, covering her anxiety with a joke.

"No." Dean shook his head. "I mean, it's just you and me. We're just being us here."

"I guess." Charlie's eyes traipsed over the bay and a light breeze caught her hair, lifting a curl from her bruises. "You're gonna ask, so ask. I know how this goes with you and Sam. You badger each other until someone confesses something awful. You cry, he cries, and we all cry. I've read the novels _and_ the fan fiction.”

"Jesus, not the fan fiction," muttered Dean as he rubbed his eyes.

"You guys aren't _that_ close, are you?” Her mouth curled slightly in a disgusted grimace.

"No! No. I don't know where they got that but hell no. God, Jesus, no." He couldn't believe anyone would think he'd have an incestuous relationship with his brother. But then again, those people didn't actually believe Sam and Dean Winchester existed in reality. "I … uh … I'm really happy with Cas, actually. This marriage thing - it's not real but I don't mind it as much as I thought I would, I guess."

Charlie's thin mouth turned upward into a smile. “I knew you'd come around. It's not so bad having a same-sex relationship. Love is love."

"I know," he said sincerely, although the idea still made him ridiculously uncomfortable. He needed to divert the subject back to what he intended, not let her keep analyzing him all night. "Charlie—"

Abruptly, she stood from her patio chair and, with her glass of whiskey, crossed the deck, her back turned to Dean. She cut a rather romantic figure standing there with her long red hair blowing in the breeze and her brightly colored rayon top flowing around her waist. But Dean realized his idea of a romantic figure translated to nothing but tragedy. Her shoulders slouched and her head tipped back as she swallowed the remainder of her whiskey in one gulp. The bite made her cough but she apparently needed the liquid courage.

"The demons are trying to breed."

He couldn't wrap his head around what he just heard. “What?”

"You heard me. They've been trying to breed with human women since the angels fell. You know there were laws in Heaven against angels breeding with humans, so they haven't even considered it down here, but those laws don't exist in Hell. So they're trying to breed to outnumber the fallen angels, I guess. I don't have all of the pieces to the puzzle. Just some of them. It used to be just something called an incubus preying on women and breeding with them, but now I guess all the demons are trying to do it."

"I don't understand. What does this have to do with you?" Dean's body went tense. Subconsciously, he knew where it was going but he couldn't get his brain to register that level of rage toward the truth.

Charlie faced him again and, putting down her drink, gripped back her hair in her fist. "A demon called Wallace did this to me. A Scottish fucktard came onto me and I was like go away, I'm into clam diving. I didn't know what he was until he showed up in my apartment." She pointed out her bruises to Dean in great detail, even lifting her top and yanking down her jeans enough to show him the full extent of the attack. "He said I'm a prize to them because I'm your friend. If one got to me for breeding, more would probably jump on that train too. I had nowhere to go except here to you."

If Dean was capable of anything so cliche as his blood running cold, it was at that moment. The only other time he felt that kind of rage pumping through his body was seeing his brother in danger. Or Castiel. His fists clenched, twitching with the urge to beat some demon to a bloody, broken pulp. Any demon would do. All of them would be even better.

He rose to his feet and gently gripped Charlie by her shoulders. At first, he couldn't make himself speak, but he needed to know one thing. "Charlie, did he ... I mean, how far did he go?" Reaching down to his chair, he grabbed his drink and swallowed the whole thing. He needed more. "I need to know if you might be--"

"--No. Remember you put the jar of holy water under my coffee table. I grabbed it and doused his ass and he smoked out of there." She squeezed the sleeve of his shirt as her eyes pressed shut. Her throat muscles rippled with a hard swallow. "He got pretty far but not far enough. I'm not ... I mean, there's no demon bread in the oven." Having confessed the truth, she let out a trembling breath.

"Christ, Charlie. I don't even know what to say. I'm so sorry." Words were inadequate. There was nothing Dean could do to erase that experience from her life. He felt like he'd failed her, like he should have been there to gank anything trying to come after her. She didn't deserve any second-hand violence just by knowing him.

God damn it.

Slowly, the protective wall built around Charlie crumbled and her body crumbled right along with it. She fell apart against Dean's chest, sobbing, yet ever mindful of making too much noise and attracting attention. Those were the instincts of a hunter. Yet she never asked for that life, nor did she ask to be attacked by a demon attempting to breed with her. Of all the barbaric things Dean had ever heard of in his life, that was up there among the worst. A demon had attempted to rape Charlie and the holy water he left under the coffee table was the thing that saved her life. It saved her from giving birth to a hellish child, which made him wonder how many other women out there for carrying half-demon spawn.

But for the moment, the only thing that mattered to him was making Charlie feel safe again. "You stay with us. You don't have to leave," he offered, having already agreed on that with Castiel earlier.

"I just don't want anyone to know about it," she sputtered through uncontrollable sobs.

"Nobody has to know," he reassured her."I'm gonna have to tell Sammy and Cas for your own protection though. Okay? We're never gonna talk about it and nobody has to know after that unless you want to. I swear."

Sniffling, Charlie pulled back a little bit, just enough to wipe her eyes and nose. "Okay," she said rather pitifully. "But I can't do it. I can't say it out loud again. You have to do it."

"Okay, no problem," he said, although the idea of describing it to his brother and his lover didn't exactly appeal him either. But he would do it for her. She was the closest he ever could have to a sister. He considered it his job to protect her the way he protected Sam. So he held her close to his chest, arms tightly wrapped around her, and let her mess up his shirt with tears and snot. "It's gonna be okay. You did the right thing coming here and now you're with family."

"I love you," she murmured.

"I know," he replied, grasping the back of her head and kissing her temple.

*****

Cleaning out the second bedroom wasn't how Dean intended to spend the early hours of the dark morning, yet neither was staring blankly at the ceiling of his own bedroom. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw the awful scene playing out against the blackness. A faceless demon, Charlie screaming, and Dean far away, able to do nothing to help her. He gave up on sleeping and moved on to cleaning out the junk from the second bedroom, determined to give it to her. She should never sleep on a couch again.

The more he thought about it, everything she endured because of her loyalty to him, the more boiling hot rage infiltrated his heart. He carried an armload of boxes into the hallway - boxes containing books and files on every kind of lore rescued from Bobby's place.

Within the hour, he'd cleaned out the room completely and began putting together the bed frame. Castiel had bought the entire bedroom set from Ikea, along with most of the furniture in the house, because it was inexpensive. He constantly complained about putting it all together, though, and it spurned him into learning to build furniture of his own. Dean had planned to do this second bedroom last after the rooms they actually used were done, but suddenly, the second bedroom took all of his priority.

The yawning, rumpled shape of Castiel appeared in the doorway. "Dean? What are you doing awake at this hour?"

"Can't sleep. Charlie needs a room. Might as well get it ready," he said as he screwed corner pieces together.

Silence emanated from Castiel like a tangible wave as he knelt beside Dean. His hand draped over Dean's forearm and his thumb rubbed the skin gently and lovingly, but Dean felt no desire to be appeased. He didn't deserve it.

"If you wanna comfort someone, go cuddle Charlie, not me," he whispered without looking up from his work.

"She's sleeping. I already looked in on her," Castiel replied patiently. Gently, he took the screwdriver from Dean so he couldn't avoid the discussion anymore. "Dean, I know you. I know what you're thinking. This isn't your fault. It's horrific and we're going to help her get through it but you couldn't have prevented it. Demons are vermin. Parasites. They creep in just when people think they're safe." He grabbed Dean's chin and forced them to meet eyes. "My love, you cannot save everyone. You're not Superman or Batman or anything like that. You're Dean. And Dean is certainly quite amazing in his own right."

"Isn't it my fault?" Dean asked darkly. "I taught you free will. You and a zillion angels get evicted from Heaven and now they're all trying to kill you. We're hiding because of me. Demons wouldn't be trying to breed by force without us fighting for free will either. They're treating our women like livestock. Charlie,  _Charlie_ took it because she's a  _prize_ for knowing me." He grabbed the screwdriver back. "Really, Cas? This isn't my fault? You could at least make up a better lie."

"You never forced us to be part of your life. We're here because we love you and we're willing to fight with you for the greater good," argued Castiel in an even tone. "You're a good man, Dean, whether you see yourself that way or not."

That wasn't what Dean needed to hear even though it jammed into his gut like a verbal knife. It affected him and not the way he wanted. He needed to be pissed off and he needed to hate himself because that was the easiest path to take. He knew it well. He understood how to function under those circumstances.

Castiel's hand curled around his face as he resumed working on the bed frame and he leaned in, kissing Dean's cheek. It lingered as his thumb caressed Dean's face too. And although he kept screwing bed parts together, his eyes fell shut and he leaned into Castiel, too tired to put up the fight anymore. The screwdriver drooped from his hand and sank sideways onto his hip, where Castiel collected him into his arms. Never would he let his defenses fall like that for anyone else, and even then, he wasn't sure what made him let go for Castiel.

"You're a good man," the former angel whispered again, kissing the top of Dean's head. "If anyone can set everything right again, it's you. We're all here because we love you, including Charlie. She's here because you're a safety net for her. Don't forget that. It's going to be okay."

"You're such an optimist," Dean murmured against his neck.

Castiel chuckled. "Somebody in this house has to be."


	8. Knights in Winchester Armor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A lot of new experiences are coming to Castiel with the growth of a goatee and experimenting with pizza and alcohol. His loose lips about his relationship make Dean uncomfortable though, and Dean tries to be patient. Meanwhile, after waking up in bed with one woman, Sam gets a distressed call from Wilhelmina. He's beginning to wonder if there's more to her story than what he originally thought.

Sometimes Dean’s newly developed quirks surprised him. He passed the open bathroom door early in the morning and, hearing a razor being shaken in the sink, retreated back to the doorway. It was the strangest fascination watching Castiel shave. He leaned against the door and observed with an endearing smile.

Castiel glanced back at him. “Good morning.”

"Hey," Dean replied.

"Is it that interesting?"

"Yeah."

"Mmm," the former angel contemplated aloud as he drew the razor along the underside of his throat, careful to avoid the dark hair filling in around his mouth and chin.

"You’re doing it different. Goatee?" Dean commented as he ambled into the bathroom for a closer look.

"Yes. You could say I’m weary of looking in the mirror and seeing Jimmy Novak. I want to see myself somehow. This is the one thing I can change easily." As he shook the razor in the sink water again, finished with his handiwork, he glanced at Dean. "Do you mind it?"

"Well, lemme try it," replied Dean in a lowered tone. His hands cradled the smooth lines of Castiel’s jaw and he offered a faint smile as he leaned in for a long kiss. The whiskers framing his mouth tickled Dean’s face but didn’t feel as coarse as he expected. There was something downy to it as if Castiel’s human body knew he had once been an angel. So Dean murmured, "I like it," against his lips.

"Okay, guys, no hanky panky in the bathroom with the door wide open," Charlie teased, suddenly appearing among them. "My turn for the shower. Take the cuddly stuff elsewhere. Out, out, out, my little ducklings!" Briefly, she smiled. "Hey, nice goatee, Cas." And then she pushed them out of the bathroom and shut the door.

Dean and Castiel exchanged looks in the hallway.

"Are you sure she’s not really related to you?" Castiel asked, apparently only half-joking.

*****

Limbs heavy and drowsy, Sam rolled over into a mess of curly blonde hair. The soft curves snugly fit against his chest and the faint floral scent of her hair tricked his sleepy mind into believing it was Stanford again and Jess slept beside him. But as he squeezed her body under the blanket, she seemed heavier. It wasn’t right.

Sam’s eyes flashed open and he bolted upright in bed, suddenly forced into the present. The flirty little librarian certainly wasn’t his Jess and he certainly wasn’t at Stanford anymore. He sighed and scrubbed a quick hand over his face in an attempt to shake off the old ghosts. It came back to him as he woke up. He stayed at the library so long the previous evening that Katie the librarian closed it with him. They grabbed a bite to eat and then ended up at a bar doing tequila shots. He didn’t remember much after that, although he recalled flashes of the little hellcat using him like a toy in bed during the night.

It didn’t feel right though. Sure, he had a great time. What guy wouldn’t want to get laid? But her personality… Behind the aggressive flirtation and dazzling smile, there didn’t seem to be much going on behind the curtain.

He climbed out of bed, naked as the day he was born, and left Katie to sleep off her inevitable hangover. If he felt like shit, she certainly felt like death in a blonde wig. He started a pot of coffee and shuffled down to the bathroom, where he found a shot glass and an old, shriveled up lime near the sink. Katie’s bright red bra hung from the light fixture over the bathroom mirror. He certainly didn’t recall any of that. Jesus Christ, he hoped his brain cells had functioned enough to remember a condom.

Somewhere distant, Sam’s phone rang. A rather loud, obnoxious ringtone reserved for numbers he didn’t know. He grabbed his shorts off the bathroom floor and stumbled into the bathroom, searching for it before it woke Katie.

"Hello?" he partially whispered as he hurried out of the bedroom.

"Paul?" Her voice sounded high, tense.

"Wilhelmina?"

"Are you off today?"

"Yeah," he replied cautiously. "My brother’s coming down to see the sights with his husband and a friend."

A breath left her, barely audible. “Oh…”

"What’s wrong?" Directness usually got a better response out of her.

She hesitated but replied, “I need help. You’re the only one who hasn’t royally screwed me over yet. Of course I haven’t known you that long and I’m sure you’ll screw me over too at your first chance but—”

"—Wilhelmina."

"What?"

"You at home?" He poured two cups of coffee, anticipating the need to kick Katie out of his apartment as soon as possible.

Wilhelmina sighed deeply as if the act of asking for help exhausted her.

"I take that as a yes. I’ll be there in an hour. Stay put," he instructed.

It took a full twenty minutes to get Katie up, but she complied easily when she realized he brought her coffee in bed. A gesture ordinarily designed for romance actually meant pushing her out of the apartment as soon as possible. She took it as a rather chivalrous thing, even when he lied to her and said he had to work that day. And she innocently thought he would be interested in seeing her again. In the end, he felt guilty about sleeping with someone who left him as indifferent as a banana peel. They'd had a good time, of course, but he felt about as much spark with her as a lighter dropped into a grave.

A little over an hour later, he turned onto Saco Street, having left a message for Dean that he'd be late for their day.

Sam trudged across the yard and found broken glass scattered through the flower bush near the front door. And the front door itself wasn't even on the hinges. A gaping hole in the mobile home left him no choice but to poke his head inside without knocking. All manner of violent, terrible things flashed through his mind.

Wilhelmina sat stiffly on the couch in the disastrous living room. A little boy, less than a year old, sat on her lap gumming down a plastic toy key ring.

"The hell happened here?" Sam asked, letting himself into her broken home.

She looked up through lifeless eyes, the left one rimmed by a purple bruise. "I had a fight with my boyfriend," she replied simply. "So I sent my mom and my sister to window shop at the mall with the kids. All except this one. He..." She swallowed hard. "He has a cold."

"Did you call the cops?" he asked as he knelt in front of her.

She shook her head. "He bolted," she replied. "I called you because I can't lift the front door. You're huge so I thought..." The woman kept such a stiff upper lip about the whole thing but her hands trembled around the baby. He sensed her unease and began to cry.

"No, it's fine. I'll clean up," Sam replied, mind racing. "Gimme the kid. Your nephew? Yeah, gimme the kid and go wash your face."

Like a robot, she handed over the crying baby and disappeared further into the interior of the mobile home. Sam hadn't the slightest idea of what to do with a crying baby, so he awkwardly bounced the kid as he walked a circle around the living room. Eventually, as all resilient children did, he stopped the tears and resumed gnawing on his toy.

If only grown people were that resilient.

*****

Dinner that night took place at Three Dollar Deweys even though Sam wasn't working. They considered it _their_ place, a safe place, and Dean even approved of the pizza. He sat beside Castiel in a booth, across from Sam, Charlie, and Jenna, who clearly relished in being invited out again. Dean thought Charlie could use a chick friend and hoped they took to each other, although not _too_ much. He silently wondered if Jenna realized she was into chicks yet.

"What do you think, Amy? You like our pizza?" Dean asked Charlie, using the alias she chose for herself - Amy Pond.

"Not as good as Chicago pizza, but pretty damn good," Charlie replied. "And you can't beat Paul's discount for working here either."

"Is that were you're from?" asked Jenna innocently.

"Yeah," replied Charlie with an awkward glance Dean's way as if she just decided to go with it on the spot. "I like it here though. It's nice to be with my friends again. It's kinds lonely where I came from."

"Sometimes it's lonely no matter what you do." Quietly, Jenna sipped rum and Coke through her straw.

Her somber tone caught even Castiel's attention. He hesitated mid-bite with a long string of hot cheese stretching from his mouth to the pizza. It had become his latest food obsession since the last time they ate there with Jenna.

The waitress with a black eye brought another pitcher of beer to their table without saying much, and Sam poured himself another full glass. His brother didn't usually drink that much, nor did he stay that quiet, and Dean sensed that same presence in the waitress too. As she passed a clean glass over to Castiel, he noticed defensive scratches on her hand. Sam exchanged glances with the waitress. She mumbled something about waving her down if they needed anything else, and then she disappeared.

Dean locked eyes with his brother.

"Later," Sam said quietly.

"Hey, did you guys hear they cast Ben Affleck in _Batman vs. Superman_?" blurted Charlie. She threw it out there with slightly widened eyes as if knowing the subject needed a change.

"Oh," cooed Jenna, "I loved him in _Pearl Harbor_."

"That was a good one," Sam agreed over his beer, "but Batman?"

Making a sour face, Dean nodded. "I'm with Paul on this one. Keaton and Bale were great but Affleck? It's gonna go like Clooney did. And when did you see  _Pearl Harbor_? I should've expected you'd like that schmoopy romantic crap."

"Kate Beckensale, man," replied Sam with a smirk. "I don't wanna hear it. How many times did you see  _Titanic_ and  _Black Swan_?"

"Dude,  _Titanic_?" Charlie's eyebrow arched. "Winslet's boobs."

"Winslet's boobs," repeated Dean with deep laughter and a nod.

"Wait." Kind, lonely Jenna's face scrunched in confusion. She pointed at Charlie and mumbled, "You're..." and then shifted to Dean with, "But you're..."

It didn't faze Charlie at all to have her sexuality questioned at the dinner table in a public restaurant. "Yes, ma'am, I prefer Winslet's boobs to DiCaprio's baby blues." She glanced at Dean. "And Mike here ... well ... he--"

"--He's classified as bisexual. Specifically, a two on the Kinsey scale, whereas I am a three," Castiel explained in his blunt manner.

"Oh, okay. Winslet's boobs just threw me for a minute," chuckled Jenna.

Dean wanted to crawl under the table and die. Instead, though, he stared at Castiel, completely stunned that he even knew what the Kinsey scale was since Dean barely even understood it. Maybe he and Charlie had been discussing the finer points of human sexuality in private. That made him swing from mortification and anger to guilt in about two seconds, realizing that Castiel knew he couldn't talk to Dean about the development of his new human sexuality. He knew that topic made Dean ridiculously uncomfortable.

The conversation shifted again while Dean sat in his own struggle. He marinated in the juices of it, cooking himself in a stew of mixed emotions. Least of all was anger placed on Castiel's head, yet he fought the urge to take it out on him. Really, he was angry at himself.

*****

"Okay, what the hell's with Pocahontas the waitress?" hissed Dean as they walked along one of Portland's piers.

Well out of earshot, Charlie, Castiel, and Jenna were all more than a little drunk and laughed loudly as they strolled together. The girls laughed louder as they flanked Castiel and linked arms with him. Dean had seen him in miserable drunk mode but never happy drunk, something that he found quite funny. Still, he kept an eye on him. They were surrounded by the sea and the last time Castiel went into water...

"Pocahontas. How did you make it through life without getting the crap kicked out of you for your mouth?" Sam asked, hands stuffed in his pockets. Even the responsible little brother seemed buzzed.

Dean smirked. "Are you new here?"

"Okay," he conceded, shrugging. "Wilhelmina got in a fight with her boyfriend. He tore up the house."

"Ahh, so that's where you were this morning." Dean mentally fit the puzzle pieces together. "You do have that sappy knight in shining armor thing about you that chicks dig. We need to do something about this guy? I could go for a fight right about now."

"I dunno yet. Maybe. I haven't even seen him. He took off after he trashed the place." Sam's eyes narrowed and focused on nothing specific ahead. "I was pretty hungover so I wasn't thinking straight. That librarian girl was a handful. Too much for me. I woke up with that girl in my bed and then Wilhelmina called asking for help. Juggling more than one made me feel like you for a minute, before the angel tamed the beast, so to speak."

Dean cackled and felt a little more pride swell his chest. "Oh man, that's good stuff. You nailing Pocahontas too?"

"No, I'm not nailing  _Wilhelmina_ ," he said forcefully. "She just needs help."

"I bet she does," Dean agreed, smirking.

"Something's weird about it though. The guy ripped off the front door from the house and the windows in the front looked like they exploded all over the yard. Maybe he's on drugs."

"Or maybe he's not human," said Dean in a lowered tone. "We should introduce Amy Pond to Pocahontas."

"Oh man." The dots connected in Sam's mind but he shook his head, resisting what he knew Dean just suggested. "I ... I don't ..." He shook his head again. "You don't think... do you?" The fact that he spoke in fragments suggested he already knew what Dean thought, and maybe he was a little pissed at himself for not thinking of the possibility.

"I dunno. Maybe," replied Dean with an honest shrug.

"There are kids in the house," Sam whispered. "Really little ones."

*****

"Dean, I think I'm drunk," slurred Castiel quite happily as he stumbled into their bedroom and kicked off his shoes. One shoe bounced off a wall and the other ended up in the abyss under the bed.

"Yeah, you're a little bombed, Cas," chuckled Dean.

A drunk former angel, it seemed, was a horny former angel. Castiel crept up behind Dean as he unlatched his watch and dropped it on the dresser. Grabby hands reached around his waist and eagerly groped along his hips until drunkenly finding his crotch. He wiggled his own hips behind Dean, who found the mating dance of a wasted former angel the funniest thing he'd encountered in a long time.

"C'mon, Dean, let's have sex," he propositioned, emphasizing the sound of sex like a snake.

Chuckling steadily grew into laughter. "How much did you drink?"

"I don't know. I don't care. Rum is wonderful." Castiel tugged Dean's shirt up his chest. "If you remove your clothes, I'll do that thing you like. You know. Remember?"

Well, that sounded promising. He fleetingly wondered if Castiel was too drunk to even get it up but it was worth a shot. Turning around in those grabby hands, Dean took his face in his hands and planted a searing, possessive kiss amid the new goatee. If Castiel couldn't get it up through way too much rum, Dean certainly knew he could.

An abrupt, piercing scream ripped both Dean and Castiel out of the moment. Though the angel wavered on his feet, he sensed something clearly wrong, and Dean straightened out his shirt.

Together, they bolted downstairs and found Charlie standing before the panoramic living room window. It overlooked Casco Bay. She stood frozen on that spot, hands trembling, and not once acknowledging that the men appeared behind her. Dean touched her back and she jumped like she wanted to spin around and punch him. She might have if they all didn't stare in awe at the bay.

Glowing white drifted across the seawater in the distance. At first Dean thought it might have been a light on a ship but he didn't recall seeing any ships that close to their part of the bay before. The light drifted further inland until he recognized the figure of a woman in it. She floated above the surface of the water.

Castiel took off for the kitchen and grabbed a sack of emergency rock salt. He began spilling it in each doorway and window while Dean and Charlie watched in silence.

"Get my gun, Cas," said Dean evenly. "Load the salt rounds. This chick isn't haunting our house. You were right, Charlie. She's haunting the peninsula. She's not getting back in our house tonight though. Don't worry." Calmly, Dean rubbed her shoulder.


	9. I Don't Need This Crap

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Castiel overhears Dean letting off steam to Sam on the phone, they dissolve into a heated fight about how he thinks Dean is ashamed of him. Tempers and tensions run high, mainly because Dean knows he's right on some deep level, but he doesn't know how to change it. So he storms out of the house in search of a bar. Drunk out of his mind, he can't seem to think straight as a woman starts coming onto him. They end up in an alley, where she refuses to take no for an answer, but something is very, very wrong with her.

"So did you rescue Pocahontas from the English yet?" Dean spoke into the phone cradled against his shoulder as he washed dinner dishes.

"Is it always about sex to you?"

"Pretty much." He laughed deviously, knowing just how to rile up Sam without much effort. It had been nearly a full day since they witnessed the ghost floating across Casco Bay and nothing else happened. Dean still felt tense as if he expected an attack at any minute, which he knew wasn't possible with the house so thoroughly salted.

"How's Charlie?" Sam asked like he felt the tension.

"She's just being Charlie. Making jokes. Playing games with Cas. Basically faking her way though being happy," replied Dean. "She's out for a walk right now. Her whole life got uprooted and now she's living somewhere she never asked to live, with people she never asked to live with, all because those black eyed dicks took her for a prize. Now she's stuck in a house with a ghost. We're all just kinda getting by, I guess. The only difference is it's dicks with wings totally uprooting my life. Hell, I kinda know how she feels."

As he let off that little bit of steam, Dean sensed movement in the next room. His eye pulled that way and landed on Castiel bent over the desk going through the mail. The disappointment clouding his eyes shifted in an instant from wounded to furious and back to deeply injured again.

"Sammy, I gotta go. I'll call you later." Dean ended the call just as Castiel abandoned the desk.

The hunter pursued the former angel around the corner and through the living room.

"Cas! Stop!" he demanded.

Castiel stopped in his tracks but he didn't face Dean or say a word. Fists balled at his sides, relaxed, and his fingers spread as if trying to ground himself against the runaway train of his emotions. Finally, he began to speak. "I'm trying to be patient with you, Dean. I'm trying, but I can't understand why you treat our amorous bond like a burden uprooting your life." He turned enough to let Dean see the mixed emotions in his dark blue eyes. "I said I wouldn't make you feel guilty if you didn't make me feel like you're ashamed of me."

"I'm not ashamed of you," Dean replied, knowing he screwed up bad. His hand skimmed over his short hair and he took a heavy breath, which did nothing to help feeling like he got busted doing something awful.

"But you are," said Castiel emphatically. "I saw the way you looked at me last night when I explained us to Jenna. You couldn't believe I dared to say it out loud even though we both know it's true. That's shame, Dean. I may not have thirty-five years of experience with emotions but I'm aware enough to know what we have his rare, yet you're still not accepting what we are."

The verbal assault punched Dean in the gut, not because Castiel tried to hurt him, but because he always saw right through the bullshit. He saw truth no matter how great of a liar Dean became over the years. Lying to other people was easy. Lying to himself was impossible. He had no response that wouldn't sound like a cop out.

Wrinkles crinkled deeper around Castiel's eyes and he shook his head. "How long is it going to take? Are you ever going to be comfortable living with me? I thought we were happy, Dean."

"I..." Dean blew out a deep breath. "I am happy with you."

"As long as nobody sees me kiss you in public. As long as we pretend not to acknowledge that I'm the one who uprooted your life," surmised Castiel. He scoffed bitterly, shaking his head. "You just let me know when you're okay with touching me without flinching, or talking to our friends about us without giving me hostile looks. You think you can handle that?"

"Damn it, Cas. Stop it." The slow progression from his tail tucked between his legs to anger slipped faster down the rocky slope.

Castiel squinted, not in that endearing confused way, but a manner that suggested deeply rooted rage. "Fuck off, Dean." He stalked to the stairwell and disappeared upstairs.

Left without any resolution, Dean felt his own anger cross a line beyond his control, and if he didn't escape, he'd inevitably make things worse by exploding at Castiel. And where did he learn to say fuck off with such a biting tone anyway? Dean was doing the best he could but God damn it, his life  _was_ completely uprooted by Castiel and the angels after them. He had every fucking right in the world to let off steam to his brother if he chose. He paced downstairs for a long time and considered going upstairs to scream at Castiel, yet something deep down knew that would only drive a wedge further between them.

"I don't need this crap," Dean muttered to the wall.

Scorned and angry at everything, mostly himself, Dean grabbed his jacket and stormed out of the house.

It wasn't until that night that Dean really missed the Impala. He craved the roar of his baby's engine and the sense of home he found in her. As he drove, he knew he couldn't go to Sam's bar in that state. He needed a place where nobody knew him, so he steered his car further into Portland away from the piers. Somewhere near the Customs House, he found a shadowy, dark bar housed in a narrow building that had probably been there since the eighteenth century. Perfect.

Things got a little foggy after that. One whiskey turned into a double. A double turned into three more. And then three more turned into a bottle. It took a full fucking bottle to numb everything that hurt again. By the time he was through that bottle, he knew walking would be a challenge let alone driving, so he simply colonized that bar stool in the name of misery.

Well, there he was drunk in some bar he probably couldn't find again tomorrow, all because he got in a fight with his … boyfriend. Oh God, he needed another drink. He had no idea why he fought so hard against the idea of being with a man despite how much he loved that man. It just wasn't the way he planned his life, not that he ever really planned anything in the first place. He felt like he didn't know himself anymore. And Castiel saw straight through his bullshit, as always. He called him out on his shitty behavior and maybe he deserved it but he couldn't change the course of his life in a few months.

He swallowed half a glass with that thought.

"Well, don't you look wrung out wet," a woman said, appearing on the stool next to him.

"Mh-hmm," he muttered noncommittally.

"What's your name?"

Dean glanced at her. He couldn't tell if her hair was blonde or brown in the dim light but her full face and hazel eyes looked nice. Yeah. Nice. "Mike," he replied. "You?"

"Beth," she said.

"Beth. As in Elizabeth." The slur in his syllables made him chuckle. "You know what's funny, Elizabethy-Beth? A couple of years ago, I would've gotten you in the back of my car and then gotten back on the road before dawn. Now? God damn blue eyes."

Beth chuckled. "My eyes are hazel, Mike."

"Yeah, ain't that a kick in the head?" Dean rambled. "And you know what he said? I'm a two. Who the fuck decided I was a two? Who made him the mother fucking expert?" His addled brain shifted topics suddenly. "Yo, bar guy! I need another drink!"

The bartender leaned over the bar discreetly and said, "Sir, I think you've had enough. I'm calling you a cab."

"I'll decide when I've had enough! I've never had enough! I'm a Wi—" As Dean blurted it out like a manifesto, he stood from his bar stool but stumbled before he could stupidly utter his real last name in the middle of Portland.

He felt fingers dig into his bicep. Beth steadied him before he faceplanted on the floor. Vaguely, he heard her tell the bartender that she had it handled.

"Come on. Let's get fresh air," she suggested as she led Dean to the door.

Before it fully sank into his senses, Dean was propelled outside to an alley near his car parked on the street. And then she turned aggressive, not that he realized it right away. Feminine curves pushed him up against a brick wall. The blurry image of her face asked him if he wanted to get her in the back of his car after all, to which his two remaining brain cells managed to decline. She smelled good, like spices and seduction, but even drunk off his ass, he still said no.

Beth grabbed his shirt and spun both of them. Her back thrust against the brick wall that time. Full hips curved and arched into his pelvis invitingly and his body responded against his will. She smiled but it appeared to be the furthest thing from sweet and ladylike. Something maniacal turned up her lips but the hazy state of his whiskey-soaked brain couldn't see the warning signs. Her fingers clawed into the back of his scalp and yanked his face down to hers, grabbing his mouth with her own like a predator. Drunken, awkward hands gripped her waist and, God help him, he gave in to her hungry kiss for a minute. Though his body remembered women, nothing about her warmed the core of him within his chest.

"No," he muttered breathlessly as he abruptly pulled away.

"Aw, what's the matter, honeypot?" she cooed.

Dean couldn't force words from his brain to his mouth, so he repeated, "No," and held up his hands to show her that he wouldn't touch her anymore.

"Oh yeah? You're telling me no? That's not what this says," Beth replied in a deeper voice. Her hand sank below his waist and palmed his partially hardened erection through his jeans. She lowered her voice to a dangerous level. "I think you do want me. Throw me up against the wall and ride me 'til you come."

His forearm pushed her back against the wall but certainly not in an invitation for sex. He needed to sober up quick. Squeezing his eyes shut, he started to leave the alley but she snatched his shirt and spun him around again. Being so drunk gave her the advantage and he stumbled.

"Come on," she whispered. Her eyes filled with metallic bronze light until nothing of the whites remained. "They'll throw me a parade downstairs when I come back with a Winchester brat in my belly."

Dean's entire being tensed as her strange demonic eyes and gravelly inhuman voice gave up her real identity. Hunter's instincts made him grab for his demon blade until he realized he didn't have it on him. He did have a flask of holy water. The whole thing played out in just a few seconds as he grabbed it from his back pocket and threw the holy water at her face. Horrifying screams from the pit of Hell erupted as she flung her hands over her face. Smoke rose from her flesh and red splotches of boiling meat showed between her fingers.

It gave Dean the split second he needed to regain his footing and sprint for his car. Being sexually assaulted by a demon with eyes he'd never seen before certainly sobered him up enough to run and throw himself behind the wheel.

Tires screeched as he whipped the car around toward the highway. He briefly considered heading to his brother's place on Carleton Street but he couldn't risk the demon following him there. That meant he couldn't go home either. A fight with Castiel didn't diminish the love he felt for him, and that realization broke apart the wall he kept around on his emotions. He'd kissed someone else even if it was a demon and Castiel might not forgive him for that. Biting his lower lip, Dean forced himself to keep control over himself as he groped in his pocket for the phone.

Voicemail.

"Cas? Cas! There's a demon in Portland who recognized me. Salt everything, give Charlie the spare gun, and get my demon blade out from under the mattress. I dunno if they know where I live. I can't come home tonight. Damn it, Cas, I wish you'd answer my calls!" Tears stung his eyes and he took a breath. "Listen to me. They're a different kind. Their eyes are bronze, like metal, not black. Please be careful, Cas."

He hung up and dialed Sam, who answered, thankfully.

"Big problem, Sammy. Red alert."

"What's up?" Sam asked.

"Demon, Sammy! Some chick recognized me at a bar and full-on tried to rape me!" he barked into the phone. "Her eyes turned bronze - not even black - and I threw holy water at her and ran."

Silence hung on the line for a long moment. "Hold on. A demon woman tried to rape you? Are you drunk?"

"Damn it, I'm serious!" he yelled. "Breeding, Sammy! Breeding!"

"Oh, she wanted your man juices for a hell-spawn."

At the stoplight, Dean pinched the bridge of his nose. "Did you lose your soul again? Where's your empathy?"

"It's just hard to imagine you fighting off a woman wanting sex," he said.

"I didn't want her even before I knew she was a demon. That's important, Sammy. I need you to remember that when the shit hits the fan. I was really drunk but I wasn't attracted to her at all," he said in deliberate tones.

"You mean Cas," Sam said, finally grasping the seriousness of the situation.

"I can't go home. I dunno if this thing is following me or what. Can you go up to my house and check on Cas and Charlie?"

"Yep. I'm on it," agreed the younger Winchester.

"Thanks," Dean replied. "I'm headed up to Brunswick. That should be far enough away to distract anything from home. Maybe I'll get lucky and I won't get followed. Call me when you check on them. And don't gank anything! You use that demon blade, the demons and angels will know where we are. Salt, holy water, and exorcisms. Only stuff other hunters can do. Cover your tracks."

"Understood. Be careful," Sam said.

"You too," replied Dean.

The dark highway unfurled before his headlights as he hung up the phone. He glanced in the rear view mirror. So far, so good.


	10. Like A Lamb To The Slaughter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean returns home after being assaulted by a type of demon he'd never seen before, but home means facing Castiel for the first time since their blowup argument. The house is so filled with tension that Charlie takes matters into her own hands and forces them to sit down while she mediates. Can she help them work it out or is their relationship beyond repair? Meanwhile, Sam and Dean have some interesting theories about the new type of demons and they decide it's time to do something about them before they assault more people.

Motels really were all the same from city to city, from podunk town to podunk town. Except that particular motel left Dean with the most miserable feeling because he was so close to home, yet so removed from the thing that _made_ it home.

He sat on the edge of the bed, having slept fully clothed in case he had to run. The demon with the weird bronze eyes hadn't followed him as far as he was aware and Sam texted him hours before saying everything was okay at home. He concluded that she acted without orders and no other demon would attempt to track him down for the new breeding program _without_ word directly from Crowley. He got lucky with encountering an apparent reckless, disobedient demon. The real trick was figuring out if the angels felt the ripple of the incident. If his own recklessness put Castiel in danger....

None of that kept him from going home though. He decided at dawn it was safe, but he couldn't make himself move. That meant facing Castiel again, who's last words to him were, "Fuck off, Dean," because he'd hurt him. He'd probably lash out again when he found out Dean got smashed at a bar and made out with a chick who turned out to be a demon. What he did just might finish them and he wasn't ready for that ripping, searing sense of loss.

He had to face it though. Sam couldn't stand guard at the house forever. So Dean made the drive back to the peninsula in complete silence. He didn't even turn on the radio. When he arrived, the blue front door stared him in the face for a good five minutes as he tried to talk himself into going inside.

Of course, Sam could always be counted on to whip open the door and turn his face to the side in confusion. "Why are you standing out here like you're selling Girl Scout cookies? Get inside."

Charlie's laughter carried into the foyer from the dining room. He heard Castiel's low chuckle underneath it and he wanted to go in there to beg for forgiveness. That wasn't Dean's way though. He wouldn't even know how if he tried.

"Do they know?" Dean asked.

"Only what you said on Cas' voicemail," replied Sam. "What'd you do to Cas anyway? He's acting like he's on the rag."

"Same problem we've been having for a while." And he really didn't want to talk about it. "So he doesn't know what I did last night then?"

"No. I think you need to be honest though."

"Thank you, Dr. Phil."

Before an argument had a chance to escalate between the brothers, Castiel casually passed through the living room. He froze and Dean couldn't move either, blue eyes meeting green. Dean wanted to puff out his chest to assert himself but recoil and tuck his tail between his legs at the same time. He couldn't make sense of it.

"Are you hurt?" Castiel asked, flat and monotone.

"I'm fine," replied Dean. "Physically fine. The rest..."

"Hmm," hummed the former angel over his words, breaking eye contact and retreating into the dining room again.

"Cas--" But he knew it was useless. "Shit."

Like a child watching tension between parents, Sam drifted back against the wall. "Look, Dean, I dunno what happened but--"

"--Okay, listen up!" shouted Charlie as she dragged Castiel behind her by the wrist. She grabbed Dean by the wrist too. "You and you. Come. Now. This ends today before my head explodes. I swear, you two are complete idiots about talking to each other."

"Charl--" Dean began.

"--Sit down!" She interrupted. "And you! Sit down."

Both Castiel and Dean obeyed, sitting across from each other at the dining table like a United Nations meeting. They were vaguely aware of Sam leaning against the doorway with his arms folded.

"You obviously had a fight yesterday," Charlie said, slowly pacing.

Castiel's eyes turned one way and Dean's turned the other.

"Well, that's mature. Cas, do you love this dumbass?"

"Yes," he replied quietly.

"Good. And Dean, do you love this dumbass?"

Dean nodded but realized that wasn't good enough. "Yep," he said.

"Fine. Fantastic." She flicked a chunk of flaming hair over her shoulder as she considered her next point. "Now, what did you fight about?"

Castiel certainly wasted no time in enumerating his reasons for the argument. "Dean is ashamed to be with me in public. He obviously wants people to see him a certain way still and that's not who he is anymore. So I'm expected to be happy living in ... well, what's the phrase you use ... living in the closet." He stared Dean down across the table and crossed his arms over his chest. "I'm the one who _uprooted_ his life. I'm his dirty little secret."

"Have you been watching Lifetime movies?" retorted Dean.

That remark earned him a slap up the back of his head as if Charlie had dealt with obnoxious brothers before. "And what's your side of it?"

Dean glared up at her as she paced around the head of the table. "I don't wanna talk about it. _Feelings_ \--"

"--Get over it, Spock," she ordered. "Do you want to fix this or not?"

Sighing, he leaned so far back in his chair that he faced the ceiling and scrubbed both hands over his eyes. "Fine." He sat upright but refused to lift his eyes from a scratch on the table. "Cas is the first ... guy ... and I'm still trying to get my head around it. Part of me still doesn't understand how it happened. I was headed one direction and now suddenly I'm headed in a completely different direction." With a heavier sigh, he braced himself for the next part. "And I vented to Sammy yesterday. Yeah, I did. I'm sorry I did but I'm gonna have a bad day sometimes. I can't deal with Cas telling me how shitty I make him feel whenever I have a bad day adjusting to someone else mattering so much to me. Like it or not, I have to adjust. I don't change very easily."

Charlie sank into the seat at the head of the table exactly between the two of them. "And do you want to adjust? I mean, is he what you want?"

"Yeah," Dean replied, nodding, but he never looked up.

"Do you understand what he's saying?" she asked Castiel.

"I do," he replied from behind a fist folded at his mouth.

"And Dean, do you understand what he's saying?"

Dean nodded.

"Okay. This is pretty common, actually. One's _out_ and the other's  _in_. I've been there myself on Cas' end of it." Charlie sounded like a counselor and a child trying to keep her parents together all at once. "The only way this is gonna work is if you meet each other halfway. Dean, you gotta realize being out won't get you burned at the stake, and it won't make you less of a man. That's just bullshit going on in your own head. And Cas, you gotta realize he's not as confident being bi as you are, so he's gonna have bad days, like he said. None of it means you guys _don't_ love each other. I mean, come on, the only thing Heaven and Hell agree on is you two making goo-goo eyes at each other for years. So now the question is can you meet each other halfway?"

Neither one of them seemed to want to crack first, but Dean knew he had to chip away at some of his stubbornness for both their sakes. So he nodded again and said he could work on meeting Castiel halfway, which prompted Castiel to agree as well. Dean should have felt better instantly but there was still a rather difficult matter on the table. He considered keeping it a secret but he knew all too well what secrets did to couples. His parents flashed in his mind.

"There's something else." He glanced at Sam, who gave a knowing nod in that annoying morally upstanding, politically correct way of his. "Um... I..." He cleared his throat. "When I left last night, I was really frustrated, you know. I was pissed. So I went to a bar. I don't even know which one. I was upset. And I got really, really drunk because I didn't want to feel how much I..." He cleared his throat again. "...How much I hate myself. Some woman came onto me and I was too drunk to think straight. We ended up outside and she tried to get me to have sex with her."

Castiel sat upright in his chair and stared unblinking at Dean.

"She kissed me and tried to grope me. A few years ago, sure, no problem, but it was no different than kissing chicken skin or something. It wasn't you, Cas, and I shoved her away. She tried again, and I shoved her another time." Dean's eyes snapped shut and he shook his head. "So when I kept saying no, that was when the bitch showed her eyes. If I hadn't been wanting you instead, Cas, I would've fallen for it. But I didn't. I swear, that was all that happened and I don't want anyone else."

The figure across from Dean watched him through unreadable blue eyes and said nothing for quite a while. Silence dragged out all the moisture from Dean's throat until he thought just when they patched things up, he had to club Castiel over the head with more ugly truth.

"He's telling the truth, Cas," added Sam, his first comment all afternoon. "It was the demon who tried to force him. The last thing he wanted was to hurt you."

Castiel nodded but something in his presence felt so heavy, so solemn. Slowly, he rose to his feet, saying, "Excuse me, everyone."

As he disappeared upstairs, Dean's instinct made him want to go after him, to feel out his head space. Seeing the pain he caused the former angel was like a wake-up call and he couldn't fathom why he had to do such asshole things. For what? To prove his manhood? If Castiel managed to get past this roadblock, he swore to himself that he would try harder. Nobody would believe his words, of course. He'd just have to suck it up and do right by him.

"Let him chill out a while," Charlie urged. "You guys overcame bigger stuff before. This just feels catastrophic because it's love now, not just doing your job as a hunter." She patted his hand. "You're just growing a heart, Spock. It's gonna hurt."

"How'd you get so smart?" asked Dean quietly, without malice.

"Reading Carver Edlund books and fan fiction." She smirked. "It's gonna be okay. He just needs a breather."

Dean nodded, but he grew thoroughly exhausted by the whole thing. He jumped out of his chair in search of leftovers in the fridge. Anything would do. He decided to eat, shower, and then approach Castiel again without the rest of the family as an audience.

"I was thinking," he said, eager to change the subject for just a little while, to clear his head. "What if the demons here are using that bar to grab people for this breeding bullshit? It was dark and small. Hardly noticeable unless you're a miserable asshole like me looking to drown problems in booze. Those are the people who make the best targets."

"So you think demons are hitting up dark, dingy bars where people are more vulnerable," Sam said. "Makes sense."

"Yeah," Charlie agreed. "I was at a bar."

Both of them stopped suddenly and stared at her, clearly forgetting what brought her to them in the first place.

"Guys, it's fine. I don't want you looking at me like that poor girl who almost got raped by a demon. I actually feel better seeing that you forgot about it," she said through a nervous little chuckle. "It kinda made me feel normal again, you know?"

"Yeah," Dean nodded, relieved.

"We should clean out the bar. Stop it from happening to other people," suggested Sam.

That idea appealed to Dean. "What if there are other bars?"

"Then we clean those out too," said Sam in all seriousness.

"Give me a demon blade," Charlie said, standing up. "I'm in."

"Not without Cas. We don't do anything without Cas." And Dean was serious about that. He shoved a forkful of the very pie Castiel made in his mouth.

The other two agreed with silent nods.

*****

The same dilemma faced Dean that faced millions of other men in the doghouse since humans began pairing up. He took a shower but realized his clean clothes were in the bedroom with the angry partner. It was a choice between climbing into a snake pit or wearing last night's pajama pants discarded on the bathroom floor.

In the end, he decided to wear last night's pajama pants without a shirt. Screw it. His house, his dress code. As he padded down the hall, the painful silence at the closed bedroom door stopped him. It couldn't go on that way.

Dean cracked open the door. Castiel didn't yell at him to go away, so he came into the bedroom, shutting both of them in privacy. The former angel had pulled himself into a ball on his side of the bed facing the empty void where Dean usually slept. He said nothing and remained motionless even though he certainly knew Dean came into the room. The stillness in his body resembled raw sadness, as if the anger left him but he couldn't get beyond the sorrow.

Moving slowly, giving Castiel a chance to kick him out, Dean climbed over his side of the bed from the end. He settled close to Castiel, facing him but not touching him, but those blue eyes wouldn't look at him. He focused on Dean's chest.

"How we doing?" Dean whispered, not knowing where to begin.

"I don't know," whispered Castiel. At least he spoke. He let an interval of silence pass before he whispered again. "Did you desire her?"

"No," he replied without hesitation.

Castiel nodded subtly against his pillow and considered it. "Is it too much to expect fidelity out of you? Was I wrong?" he whispered.

"No, you weren't wrong. You can trust me, Cas," promised Dean. "I don't want anyone else. I mean it. You know I can say it until I'm blue in the face but you're gonna have to trust me a little bit."

He expected Castiel to sit up and argue with him, which might have been easier to deal with, but the former angel tightened further into a ball. Dean understood he'd never been hurt like that as a human and couldn't compute the racing, confused emotions as fast as others might do. He reacted defensively to pain, which Dean understood better than people probably guessed of him.

As further silence covered them, Castiel's eyes closed, the eyes that still hadn't met Dean's, and a tear dripped over the side of his nose. Dean had never seen him cry as a human and only once as an angel with blood tears. His own breath caught in his chest at the sight, knowing he was the reason Castiel felt pain that deep.

"Cas, I'm sorry," he whispered as he ran his thumb under Castiel's eye. With an arm around him, Dean pulled him close to his chest, a hand on the back of his head. Into Castiel's hair, he whispered what needed to be said no matter how difficult the words were to access. "I love you, Cas, and I'm sorry I've been an asshole, okay? I'm gonna make it up to you. Just, please, don't stop trusting me. We're not gonna make it if we're not in this together. I mean fighting to clear your name with the angels, and fighting the demons too, but Cas, I mean _us together_ just as much." He knew he didn't sound like himself, but maybe a new piece of himself was finally allowed to speak.

Although Castiel didn't answer him, he never pulled away. Dean felt him wrangle an arm free between them and slide it around his waist. For the first time in two days, Castiel's angry resolve faded enough to let him reach out for Dean again. The deepest sigh of relief passed through Dean then, feeling the weight of Castiel's arm around him.

It wasn't perfect and maybe they never would be perfect, but they met each other halfway across the bed. Neither of them let the other go until Charlie shouted upstairs that she'd cooked dinner.

Dean itched to get back to that bar and clean out the demons. He and Castiel would benefit, he decided, from that proverbial discharge of gunpowder. Honestly, they all needed to feel like they had control over things again and he thought maybe even Charlie would recover some of the confidence they stole from her.


	11. Copper Eyes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While Dean works to repair the broken pieces of his relationship with Castiel, Sam uncovers shocking news about the bar where Dean was propositioned by the demon. They put together a plan to stop further demon attacks at that bar. Charlie insists on being part of it, but Dean questions whether it's really a good idea given everything she's already endured. Who are the demons with copper colored eyes? Can they be stopped?

A crosshatch pattern of sunlight warmed Dean's face until he woke in early morning haze. His eyes opened slowly and peered at the beautiful late summer day dawning outside of his bedroom window.

It felt like dawn all over again - the sun rising over the first time he woke with Castiel curled around his body. Something changed during the night. A silent shift in their relationship that crumbled another one of the many walls between them. Where Castiel had always been the one curling around his body as they slept, Dean now curled around him as well.

Dean watched him sleep for a long time, occasionally slipping his fingers through the mess of dark hair. He’d come close to breaking their bond. Too close, really.

"I promise I'm gonna do better," he whispered even though Castiel didn't hear him.

His lips brushed Castiel's forehead and drifted to his temple, his eyelashes, the curve of his cheek, and the stubbled line of his jaw. By the time he reached Castiel's throat with those trailing kisses, the former angel stirred into consciousness. Dean gave him a half-smile as he cupped his cheek and dragged the pad of his thumb over the fullness of his lips. Wordlessly, Castiel leaned up on his elbow and leaned into a soft, languid morning kiss.

"Did you sleep, Dean?" he whispered.

"Yeah," Dean murmured.

"Good." Laugh lines deepened around his eyes with his pleased smile. He leaned in for another kiss as if the both of them had always been starved for touch. "Dean?" he mumbled against his mouth. "You're gong to let me wash the world clean of the demon that demon. She’s mine."

"Yeah, okay," he agreed, honestly willing to give Castiel anything he wanted at that point.

"Charlie's probably awake," Castiel said absently.

Dean tugged him closer by the waist and flattened him back against his pillows. "She can wait," he replied as he dragged tantalizing wet kisses along his angel's collarbones.

The sun rose toward lunchtime before Dean finished paying worship to every curve, every line, every taut muscle of Castiel's body. He let himself sink into the attraction, the raw need to be part of that beautiful creature. In some abstract way, he wanted to prove that he did love Castiel and he wasn't always afraid of it. Of course, freely expressing it in the privacy of their bedroom was much easier than outside, but things had to evolve one day at a time. That morning was about thoroughly satisfying Castiel until it left him a pile of heavy, exhausted limbs tangled around Dean. He tucked that memory away and saved it to pull him through the inevitable next time he screwed up.

*****

Sam's apartment seemed even smaller with the four of them gathered there late in the afternoon. He actually darted around picking up dirty clothes when they arrived as if he'd become house proud. It amused Dean to no end.

"This is such a great place," said Charlie as she dropped her bag on the kitchen counter. "My place looks so stark compared to this, but you've got an old mansion here."

"Yeah, I like it," Sam replied. He shoved his hair behind his ear and smiled at her as he closed up a scattered newspaper to make room on the dining table. "My neighbors probably think I'm a drug dealer since I go out at night for the most part. The lady downstairs gives me the stink eye a lot."

"You're just giving them a little intrigue." Shrugging, Charlie plopped into a dining chair.

Castiel sank into the seat beside her and, as Dean twisted through the narrow space behind them, he rubbed Castiel's shoulder. He reached for Sam's laptop on the shelf over Charlie's head and passed it across the table to his brother, all the while keeping some part of him touching his former angel. Then he sat down beside him, quietly resting a hand on Castiel's thigh.

"You're making me sick," Sam muttered as he turned on his laptop.

"Shut up," replied Dean.

Laughing, Charlie studied the pair. "The best part about fighting is making up. Don't you know anything, Sam?"

"Let's get to it," interjected Dean. "You called us here. What'd you find?"

Sam's presence shifted to the business of the hunt, the thing they knew as intimately as anything else. He brought up files on his laptop and flipped through a pair of old library books, all as if preparing for a presentation.

"There's something off about the bar where you were ... propositioned," he said, choosing his words carefully. "I mean really off. It's been a pub since 1735 in that building, but nobody realizes it because the name changes every generation or so. Portland wasn't even incorporated then. This was all part of Falmouth."

"So the place got sold whenever an owner died," Charlie surmised.

"You'd think that, yeah, but I dug into the owners. This is what's off about it. Every single owner has been an unmarried woman, not a man like you'd expect from a public building and that far back in history. Usually men own these places. I mean, almost every building historically has been owned by men. Married women never had any property rights and respectable women never owned public houses - that's what pubs were called." Sam spun the laptop around to show the three of them property records. "Six owners between 1735 and now. All women. All unmarried. All with a public reputation, and in those days, a public reputation was like assuming they were prostitutes."

"What does this have to do with the rapey demons?" asked Dean.

A finger held up signaling for a second, Sam flipped to one of the marked pages in his library book and handed it over to Dean. "The first owner - Rebecca Adams. That portrait was painted in 1742." Once they all had a look, he skipped a huge chunk of the book to the next bookmark. "The second owner - Mary Ward. This portrait was painted in 1809."

Stunned, Dean leaned forward in his chair and flipped back and forth between the pages. "It's the same woman." And as he looked closer, he recognized hazel eyes underneath all of the overstuffed historical clothes. "That's the demon. The one I met. I remember those eyes."

"I figured as much." He switched books. "The same woman turns up in 1846--" He skipped ahead. "--and 1883--" He skipped ahead again. "--and 1906--" Toward the back, he pointed. "--and 1954. There aren't pictures of the current owner but we can all guess. Property records say her name is Elizabeth Crowley."

"Beth," groaned Dean, rubbing his eyes. "She'd called herself Beth."

Castiel's eyes narrowed possessively as he too leaned forward to study the images. He resembled a cop eyeballing a mugshot to go out and canvas the city for the criminal. Dean didn't dare argue. He'd told Castiel that he could have her the minute they found her. What he intended to do, Dean could only guess, but all roads certainly led to blood and marking territory.

"Wait," interrupted Charlie, "she's using Crowley's name? That takes massive lady balls."

"It may point to the top of the food chain sanctioning the breeding," Sam theorized. "What I don't get is why she didn't go after you, Dean, and why every demon in the city seems oblivious that we're here."

"You and Dean are too well-known, Sam. They cannot continue their breeding if both of you are aware of it because they know you'll stop it," replied Castiel over his coffee.

"She couldn't have known I'd turn up in her bar. I didn't plan it," Dean added. "I think she probably saw the opportunity and ran with it but she's sure as shit not gonna go after me just to risk pissing off Crowley. He knows we don't dick around."

Nodding, Castiel continued, "He's very much aware of what both of you are capable of. I don't think he ever intended for you to discover what's going on until well after the current half-breed generation is born, if ever. That means you both would be off-limits and Beth going after Dean was no more than a demon going rogue."

"What kind of numbers are we talking?" Sam asked.

Castiel's eyes shifted to the ceiling and he rubbed his jaw in a rather human gesture of thought. "We don't know how many have succeeded at breeding already. There could be thousand of demon females impregnated by human males and human females impregnated by demon males. I would estimate that two or three generations would be enough to outnumber the earthbound angels, go to war, and seize power of the planet."

"Well, as long as it's nothing catastrophic or anything," Sam muttered sarcastically. "We always end up here."

Unusually quiet, Charlie held her cup of coffee between both hands and stared at the steam rising to her face. She clearly listened but Dean noticed the change in her demeanor.

He leaned closer to her. "You sure you wanna hear all this?"

She nodded and abruptly lifted her eyes to his. "If it happened to me, it's happening to so many other people. I need to help stop the crazy train."

Dean nodded and slung his free arm around her shoulders. He pulled her close and kissed her temple like a protective older brother. The girl certainly had the instincts and bravery of a hunter, yet he hesitated to expose her to that life even more. He didn't resist this, though, because he knew she needed a chance to reclaim her personal power.

"I'm still trying to figure out what kind of demon has bronze eyes. If we can figure that out, then we can figure out their weaknesses," Sam continued as he unrolled blueprints across the books and laptop on the table. "This is the building. Between the four of us, I think we can clean out the bar. Chances are she's just one of several demons working there. I dunno what we're gonna do about the rest of the planet but maybe we can shut down this one breeding operation."

"No demon blades," Dean said stoically. "We need to handle this the way every other hunter would. They can't know it's us or the angels will know where we are too. We gotta do this old-school. I'd say we need to cover our faces. Try to keep from being identified. Sammy, you and I can't be seen together when we go through with this."

"Agreed. Exorcisms?" asked Sam, arching a brow.

"Exorcisms," Dean said, nodding.

"They're incubi and succubi." Charlie announced over them in a cool, monotone voice, but she swiped away a few errant tears from under her eyes. "The one who got me said so."

It appeared that Sam recognized the terms as his eyes widened. He frantically dug under the research rubble for his laptop and his fingers flew over the keyboard. The younger Winchester was in his element. "I know what they are. I think we got this. I mean, I've never seen one before but the lore crosses over almost every culture." He fell silent momentarily as he read, and then he pointed to the screen. "There. Copper, not bronze. Their eyes are copper because they're uncontrollably attracted to that metal."

"Lilith was the original Princess of Succubi created and positioned by Lucifer himself," Castiel explained to Sam. "I don't know who ascended in her place after you killed her. The Prince of Incubi is a demon called Asmodeus as far as I'm aware. There are seven Princes and Princesses of Hell who have dominion over the seven deadly sins. Incubi and succubi, obviously, have dominion over lust. The Princes and Princesses answer directly to the King of Hell. Crowley."

"How do we gank these things?" asked Dean.

"I don't know. I can't recall anyone ever trying, at least not in my periods stationed on Earth."

"Great," sighed Dean as he stretched and folded his hands behind his head. "Well, it wouldn't be us if we weren't going in blind and guns blazing, right? I guess we do this the way we did it before we got the demon blade from Ruby."

Sam's eyes turned glassy and hollow with regret. "I wonder if Ruby was a succubus."

"Her eyes were black," corrected Castiel. "She was simply manipulative."

"An abomination is an abomination no matter what color their eyes are," Charlie chimed in with a much darker tone. She rose from the table as if she'd reached her mental limits with the demonic conversation. "Can we go eat now? I'm starved."

"Yeah," Dean agreed with a nod her way, and then shifted his eyes to his brother. "You and I can come up with the game plan later tonight."

"Right," Sam said, sensing the need to give Charlie a break.

*****

A single bedside lamp burned in Charlie's room. Hermione sat under the lamp - one of the scattered relics she'd saved in her flight from danger.

"We need to get you some stuff. It's a little naked in here," said Dean.

"I miss my movie posters," she replied quietly. "And my LARPing stuff."

Dean nodded, sitting on the edge of her bed as she laid among her pillows with the comforter pulled up to her chest. "I think I can help with the movie posters at least. We had fun that day I dressed up and did _Braveheart_ , huh?" He smiled with the memory.

"Yeah, it was fun." Faintly, she smiled too.

An impulsive decision came to him, though he didn't tell her. He decided to find some local LARPing people and get her back in her element. It might do some good for her recovery, which always worried him no matter what else distracted his thoughts. He wasn't a therapist or anything but he knew what made her happy. The dark cloud following her around since she was assaulted bothered him the way it would if she was his own blood. They always understood each other in some unspoken way.

"You're sure you wanna clean out that bar with us?" he asked again.

"I need to, Dean. Just let me go with you, please," she nearly begged.

"Okay," he agreed, torn between protecting her and letting her fight. "I just, you know, wanna make sure you're all right. You know you can stay here as long as you want. Cas and I want you here."

"I know. I like it here, all except the lady moonwalking across the bay."

"Yeah, we're gonna take care of that soon too. Everything's salted so you won't see her in the house."

"Salt and burn?" She smiled.

"Salt and burn." He smiled back.

"Oh my God, are we having a broment?"

Laughing, Dean playfully shoved her shoulder as he got up. "Get to sleep," he said as he switched off the lamp. "Night."

"Aw, but why aren't we on the hood of the Impala hugging it out?" she called after him. "Didn't you read the books?!"

"Good _night_ , Charlie," he laughed over his shoulder.

Dean padded downstairs and made himself recognize the peace and quiet in his house. It had been a rather long time since he had that sense of calm, which made him hyper-aware and soak it up. He stood at the panoramic window for quite a while watching up and down the peninsula. Even in moments of trying to relax, he couldn't turn off the hunter instincts.

A glass half-filled with whiskey appeared before him. Castiel smiled in his quiet way, holding his own glass.

"You're drinking now?" Dean asked as he accepted the whiskey.

"Rum was wonderful. I wanted to know your drink also," he replied. "Is Charlie asleep?"

"Yeah. She's hell bent on cleaning out the bar with us. I dunno if I'm doing the right thing by letting her do it," Dean admitted.

A light shrug lifted Castiel's shoulders. He turned, facing Dean, but casually leaning back on the desk. "You're not her father, Dean. She's going to do what she needs to with or without your consent. Perhaps this is her way of reconciling what happened to her."

"Am I acting like her father?" Dean questioned, feeling his face sour.

"A little bit," replied Castiel. "It simply means you care for her."

"We all do." He swallowed more of the whiskey. "We still good?"

A small smile crinkled Castiel's eyes as he set his glass on the table behind him and lovingly touched Dean's cheek. Without lifting off the desk, he pulled Dean's face down to meet his with a kiss. "Whiskey tastes different on you," he observed between mingled lips. "It tastes _better_ on you."

"At least I have my uses," chuckled Dean. He pulled back just enough to suggest an impulsive idea. "We should go out after this bar thing is done."

"Sure," replied Castiel with a nod. "I'll make sure Sam gets us our table."

"No, I mean just us. You and me. Eat at a nicer place, maybe catch a movie. Something like that."

Castiel's head tilted but a slow smile crept over his mouth. "A date." His smile grew. "Isn't that what it's called now? Dating?"

"Yeah, Cas, dating." An amused smile pressed against Castiel's lips, dissolving into another kiss with the silent hope that he recognized how much Dean wanted to right his wrongs.


	12. Ambush

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean returns to the bar where the demon propositioned him, but tonight, he has Sam, Castiel, and Charlie with him. The four of them carry out a carefully orchestrated plan to rid at least that one bar of demons plaguing Portland. Will they all get out unhurt? And where do they go from there?

Dean glanced across the darkened street through the holes cut in his black ski mask and made sure Charlie was carefully covered and ready to go before he gave the signal. His brother and Castiel made up the other team further ahead, crouched behind a building on the next block. They had the bar surrounded.

With a flip of his hand to signal, both he and Charlie moved for a drain pipe around back of the bar. He boosted her up on a dumpster without a word and the two of them scaled the side of the building to a second floor window. A megaphone hung over her shoulder like a handbag and the rectangular shape in her pocket contained the recording. Her concentration and fearlessness amazed Dean as she perched on the side of the building and picked the window lock like she'd been a hunter since birth. As soon as she fed herself through the window, Dean followed.

The floor vibrated with the bass of live music carried through the bar on the ground floor as Dean weaved through offices to the front face of the building. He peered down at Castiel and Sam hidden across the street below and gave them the signal. The two of them carried massive sacks of rock salt over their shoulders as they stalked across the street, taking the long way out of sight.

"You good?" he whispered as Charlie worked a screwdriver on the floor vent.

The black ski mask at his feet nodded. She squatted over the vent and lifted the old Victorian grate quicker than he could offer help. She passed him a second handsaw and the two of them set to work on widening the hole in the hardwood floor. At least with live music that night, nobody could possibly hear anything amiss above their heads.

*****

One lone figure crept through the cellar beneath the bar. Sam shined a flashlight as he progressed, in search of the building's water tank. He found it in a utility room near a generator, which rumbled loudly like an exhausted elderly man snoring through the night.

The younger Winchester brother popped open the water tank and formed a cross with his hand over it. He gripped a rosary tightly, ready to be dropped.

" _Exorcizo te, creatura aquæ, in nomine Dei Patris omnipotentis, et in nomine Jesu Christi, Filii ejus Domini nostri, et in virtute Spiritus Sancti: ut fias aqua exorcizata ad effugandam omnem potestatem inimici, et ipsum inimicum eradicare et explantare valeas cum angelis suis apostaticis, per virtutem ejusdem Domini nostri Jesu Christ: qui venturus est judicare vivos et mortuos et sæculum per ignem_ ," he mumbled the blessing over the building's water supply.

*****

"... _Deus, qui ad salutem humani generis maxima quæque sacramenta in aquarum substantia condidisti: adesto propitius invocationibus nostris, et elemento huic, multimodis purificationibus præparato, virtutem tuæ benedictionis infunde; ut creatura tua, mysteriis tuis serviens, ad abigendos dæmones morbosque pellendos divinæ gratiæ sumat effectum; ut quidquid in domibus vel in locis fidelium hæc unda resperserit careat omni immunditia, liberetur a noxa. Non illic resideat spiritus pestilens, non aura corrumpens: discedant omnes insidiæ latentis inimici_..."

Outside, crouched over the open hole leading to the water pipe feeding that building, Castiel dangled another rosary. His Latin blessing sounded a bit more precise, a bit more refined than Sam's happening in the cellar simultaneously, but they had the same effect.

*****

As Sam finished his blessing over the water tank, saying, "... _et si quid est quod aut incolumitati habitantium invidet aut quieti, aspersione hujus aquæ effugiat: ut salubritas, per invocationem sancti tui nominis expetita, ab omnibus sit impugnationibus defensa. Per Dominum, amen_ ," he dropped the rosary into the water.

*****

The second floor saw Dean dropping a line of salt across the only stairwell leading up to them - the only escape in that direction. Just for added assurance, he salted nearby windows as well. They weren't getting away if he had anything to say about it.

Dean returned to Charlie's side, two black masses slicing through the night, and nodded at her.

"Okay, hold these," she whispered, handing him the little megaphone and the digital audio recorder from her pocket. "You think they're ready to get this show on the road?"

"If we're ready, then they're ready," Dean replied with absolute certainty.

With her fearless nod, Charlie pulled the ski mask back down over her face and made sure her hair was tucked underneath it. She crouched over her widened hole into the air vent and, hands planted on the floor, dropped her legs into it. Dean still wasn't sure about letting her do it but she was the only one small enough to fit. He passed the recorder and the megaphone down the hole to her once she laid horizontally in the narrow passage.

"Second vent, remember," he whispered. "Don't lean on the first vent. You'll fall through. Wait for the signal."

"I know, I know," she whispered back.

That was it. Once Charlie crawled out of sight through the air vent, she was on her own and Dean couldn't help her. He had his own job to do, though, and they all depended on him to pull the trigger.

Quickly, he stripped off the ski mask and peeled away his black sweatpants. It left a man in jeans and a black t-shirt like any other bar patron, but to throw off the scent, he grabbed the wig and baseball hat from under his shirt. It had been the wig he wore the day he played fantasy warrior with Charlie before everything got so complicated. Adding the baseball hat made him look a bit like a meaty version of Ash. As long as the change in his appearance got him into the bar long enough to pull the trigger, it would be worth it.

He climbed down the side of the building again, catching a glimpse of Castiel in the alley. They exchanged silent nods and then Dean disappeared around the corner to the front entrance. He got in easily with his head bowed. People packed in like sardines that night, probably because of the live music, but no one seemed bothered by the dimly lit bar, the smoke, or the couples pairing up all over the place.

Dean glanced at the ceiling periodically as he circled the bar at a leisurely pace. He ordered a drink but never touched it.

Finally, he found what he searched for in the darkest corner possible. He waited until swaying, dancing bodies blocked him in that back corner and then he stood on a chair. A spark of a silver lighter under the sprinkler triggered the fire protection system rigged throughout the building in moments. A burst of water showered overhead from six or seven different sprinklers on that floor alone. Instantly, people screeched, screamed, and bolted from the doors. Emergency exits sprang open and humans ran into the dark streets surrounding the bar without any trouble.

But just as Dean planned, the demons wearing the most attractive meat suits couldn't cross the salt lines. Some of them pounded at windows as holy water rained from the ceiling but they found salt rubbed on the glass as well. Flesh boiled from their bones like overcooked meat left in the oven all night. Inhuman screams arose.

There were eight of them scrambling for a way out. A bartender, a bouncer, three waitresses, the demon Beth, and two patrons. Tables and chairs overturned. Liquor bottles shattered on the floor. Dean sneered in unapologetic pleasure as he watched their torture. He ripped the wig and hat off his head and dropped them in a sopping pile on the floor. The view of demons boiling in a shower of holy water as he strode around the corner from his hiding spot brought a smirk to his own wet features.

"Christo!" he boomed over their anguished cries.

And that was the signal. Eight pairs of eyes flooded with copper faced him as he heard the click of Charlie's recorder. They hissed at Dean and some tried to fling him into a wall, but the Latin words strangled their inhuman powers.

Sam's voice echoed through the bar. " _Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus omnis satanica potestas, omnis incursio infernalis adversarii, omnis legio, omnis congregatio et secta diabolica. Ergo draco maledicte et omnis legio diabolica adjuramus te. cessa decipere humanas creaturas, eisque aeternae Perditionis venenum propinare_...."

The screaming intensified and pierced Dean's eardrums, yet he never flinched. He knew Sam and Castiel held the main exits at the front and back of the bar, so he wanted to watch the demons suffer. It exhilarated him. And as he thought of what their kind had done to Charlie, his smirk grew into a wide grin of his own brand of diabolical pleasure. The demons went into seizures, flailing and rolling around in agony. Spines and legs twisted beyond the limitations of the human body.

"How _dare_ you!" Beth growled at Dean over the recording.

Dean chuckled darkly. "Shoulda thought twice about trying to nail this sweet piece of ass, _honeypot_."

" _Vade, Satana, inventor et magister omnis fallaciae, hostis humanae salutis. Humiliare sub potenti manu dei, contremisce et effuge, invocato a nobis sancto et terribili nomine, quem inferi tremunt. Ab insidiis diaboli, libera nos, Domine. Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus omnis satanica potestas, omnis incursio infernalis adversarii,omnis legio, omnis congregatio et secta diabolica_ ," the recording continued from Charlie's position within the air vent above the bar. " _Ergo draco maledicte et omnis legio diabolica adjuramus te. Cessa decipere humanas creaturas, eisque aeternae Perditionis venenum propinare...._ "

They were weaker demons, Dean realized all too suddenly as the Rite of Exorcism neared its end. Other demons would have damn near torn down the building by the power of their minds to get out, but these demons resembled screaming, writhing monsters paralyzed by the Latin incantations.

The moment Sam's recording delivered the final line, " _Ut Ecclesiam tuam secura tibi facias libertate servire te rogamus, audi nos_ ," the screaming reached its crescendo.

Charlie dropped through the air vent just as eight heads began whipping backwards. Mouths pried open so wide that jaws might have unhinged if they weren't possessed. Metallic, copper smoke billowed from the eight bodies toward the ceiling as they shook violently on their feet. Despite the sprinklers shooting holy water down on all of them, the smoke curled around the ceiling with golden lightning bolts electrifying the whirlpool.

Instinctively, Dean just knew it wasn't going to end quietly, and he grabbed Charlie tight in his arms. He forced her to the floor and shielded her body with his own. They barely hit the deck when a golden explosive light rumbled the bar so thoroughly that the windows shook.

"Dean, what's happening!" she screeched against the floor.

He didn't dare look up until steady thumps of eight bodies hit the floor, one after another. The demonic cloud of copper smoke dissipated in an instant and left them both in a cold, wet shower.

"Are you okay?" Dean asked as he yanked off her ski mask.

Wide-eyed, Charlie nodded and hesitantly looked around at the destroyed bar. Flaming red hair tumbled around her shoulders in wet chunks and Dean helped her to her feet. He propelled her outside, knowing Sam would grab her the minute she hit the threshold. It worked, but Dean couldn't let himself celebrate yet.

Sirens blared in the distance as Dean rushed to the surveillance system in the back employee room. The whole thing looked soggy and useless but he couldn't take any chances. He ejected the VHS tape recording in the system and tucked it in his jeans and under his soggy shirt. On his way out, he hopped up on the bar and grabbed the megaphone and digital recorder Charlie left in the vent, as well as the dripping, nasty wig and hat off the floor. He couldn't risk leaving anything behind that might help identify them.

Bursting from the back door, he found Castiel, Sam, and Charlie by their cars three blocks away just as they had planned. The three of them shucked their clothes and put on things more inconspicuous, although Charlie still resembled a drowned rat. Whatever the fire department concluded about eight unconscious bodies soaking in a destroyed bar didn't matter. What mattered was they all got out unscathed and Dean remembered to grab the evidence of the mass exorcism.

"Dean," sighed Castiel with relief as he threw himself around the wet hunter. "Are you hurt?"

"No, I'm okay." Grabbing the back of his head, Dean kissed his temple.

"Did we get 'em all?" asked Charlie, still on the defensive.

Dean nodded. "I think so." He glanced at Castiel again, rather apologetic. "I'm sorry you couldn't gank that woman yourself. She got sent back to Hell though."

"Charlie's attacker is still out there," Castiel replied darkly. "The day to release my anger will come."

Sam handed Dean a dry shirt and pair of jeans. "We should all hole up at your place out of town tonight. Just in case somebody realizes it was us. We can't defend ourselves in my apartment."

"Agreed," Castiel said with a nod.

Though he nodded, Dean knew if the demons really wanted to find them, it wouldn't matter where they hid. A fight was a fight. At least he knew exactly where his weapons were stashed at home and most of the place was already salted in defense against the peninsula ghost.

"Let's get out of here. This place gives me the creeps." Charlie twisted her hair and wrung out the water, though the black tank top under her clothes was still wet.

*****

The mass exorcism still left Dean feeling unsettled late that night in the safety and comfort of his bed. He stared at the ceiling with Castiel's arm flung over his chest. The former angel slept hard. Of course he did. The demon woman who dared to kiss Dean had been painfully dispatched to Hell. Castiel's propensity for vengeful jealousy was not an aspect of his human personality that Dean had expected. As much as it made him feel _wanted_ , it also left the possibility of making Castiel careless and prone to emotional outbursts in other situations that might trigger his jealousy.

But no, that wasn't what left Dean unsettled. He analyzed his feelings there in the dark, fingertips lazily tracing the back Castiel's forearm. Somehow he couldn't shake the sense that they'd forgotten something, or they'd left something undone that might get them caught.

"Why can't you sleep, Dean?" mumbled Castiel in drowsy words against his bare shoulder. "Sam's camping on the couch. Charlie's safe in her room. We're all okay."

"I know," Dean replied quietly. He considered it deeper. "We only got eight. How many other assholes are out there hurting innocent people like Charlie?"

"Or you," he murmured tenderly.

"I wasn't hurt. I don't matter."

Castiel leaned up on his elbow and peered down at Dean in the dark. "You matter to me."

As usual, the hunter had no idea how to respond to that kind of honesty. His open hand passed down the side of Castiel's face and the former angel turned into his palm with a kiss. It occurred to Dean just then that not everything needed a verbal response. Sometimes an affectionate touch was enough. He tucked away that bit of knowledge for another time when he couldn't find the right words. Maybe in time the words would stop hiding somewhere deep in his gut.

"You can't save everyone in one night. I believe that's why you're feeling so restless," Castiel said after a measure of mutual silence. "Remember you saved at least eight people from being attacked tonight by exorcising eight demons. Maybe more. We don't know how many they assault on a daily basis but you got some of them. It's okay to give yourself some credit."

Dean nodded. He tried to absorb it. "How do we stop the rest? They're everywhere. All over the world." Thinking of women like Charlie being attacked brought a crushing burst of emotion from his chest. He choked it down again. It wasn't going to help anything.

"We'll find a way," promised Castiel as his thumb tenderly rubbed Dean's jaw. "We always find a way."

"You're not even thinking about getting the angels off your ass anymore either," Dean said.

He thought he saw Castiel's dark silhouette shrug in the dark. "Right now, this is more important. I'm just one life. I don't matter when thousands of innocent people are being hurt every day."

"You matter to me," Dean answered, repeating the sentiment.

Something about Castiel's weight relaxed over him and he imagined a plump little smile as if his little piece of honesty moved him inexpressibly. "We have each other," the former angel explained in a soft tone, "but a lot of these people being hurt probably don't have anyone to protect them. That's what makes you noble. You look after the innocent without asking for anything in return. We're going to stop the demons first and worry about me later because that's the right thing to do. We both know it, don't we?"

"Yeah, I guess." Dean nodded.

Castiel crawled out of bed without any warning, his nude silhouette sliding through the room.

"Where are you going?"

"When I first fell, hot tea was the only thing that helped me relax enough to sleep. I think I have some downstairs. You need rest," he explained.

Smirking, Dean raised up on his elbow. "Okay, but don't you think you oughta put shorts on or something before you scar Sammy for life with your naked ass?"


	13. Date Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Trying to make good on his promise to stop making Castiel feel like he's ashamed of their relationship, Dean takes advantage of a chance to celebrate ganking demons by taking the former angel out on a real date. He's not sure how to do it but soon he realizes Castiel knows more about him than he thinks. And maybe a little romance every now and then isn't so bad.

"What are you doing, Mike?" Shining blue eyes squinted at him. It still sounded weird to call each other by aliases, especially on a night that was supposed to be about them together.

But Dean smirked anyway. "Pulling out your chair. Now sit down."

It took a minute but Castiel finally caught the reference. His eyes slid to the side in some suspicion and he dropped into the chair as Dean pushed it in for him. "You're implying that I'm the female here. This is a longstanding act of chivalry for women who once wore long, full gowns and--"

"--It's me being romantic. Shut it and say thank you," murmured Dean, bent to Castiel's ear.

A light smile pulled at Castiel's mouth and he nodded down at the cloth napkin he unfolded over his thigh. "Thank you, Mike," he said with a hint of teasing sarcasm.

Dean grabbed his own seat across the intimate table that he'd reserved for them. It wasn't a pretentious restaurant but he'd promised a nicer place than their usual spot, Three Dollar Deweys, a few blocks away. The steakhouse he chose overlooked a spot of sea between the piers and their table gave them a great view of lobster boats through the window. Most of all, it was a public place. It took a lot for Dean to sit there openly on a date with a man and he hoped Castiel understood how hard he tried to follow through with his promises.

"Jenna said this place has the best steak," commented Dean.

"You talked to Jenna?"

He nodded. "Somebody had to give me ideas. I don't have a clue."

"Oh." And that earned him a pleased little smile from Castiel. "And steak is good, I suppose."

"Steak's _awesome_. Oh man, I have so much to teach you." It seemed kind of nice, Dean realized, to experience everything for the first time all over again through Castiel. He unfolded his menu even though he already knew what he wanted.

"No cheeseburgers or pizza," said Castiel as he read his own menu.

"You gotta try more than just cheeseburgers and pizza," Dean countered. "Trust me. You'll love steak."

"I trust you," the former angel said quietly, eyes cast over the table.

Comfortable silence descended over the table in time. Dean peered over his menu, watching Castiel's eyes meticulously scan every line detailing the food the steakhouse offered. He wore one of Dean's white dress shirts left open to the collarbones and a pair of black pants, while Dean wore a blue dress shirt and charcoal pants. They looked damn near  _respectable_. Nobody would have ever guessed one of them had been an angel of the Lord and the other carried the blades and lock picks of a lifelong hunter.

But as Dean glanced around at other tables, other people clearly on dates appeared to be engrossed in conversation. He and Castiel had a way of sitting in silence and communicating through looks and touches. It had always been that way - a reflection of times when they could not express what developed from the day they found each other. But there in a restaurant as a respectable couple, Dean felt pressure to talk, to be like everyone else.

He cleared his throat.

He searched the contentment on Castiel's face.

"So," he began, "I think Pauly's has a lead on another—"

"—We agreed, no work tonight. Don't you remember?"

"Yeah, but… Never mind." Dean shifted in his seat, uncertain. Dating was harder than it looked in movies. It sure wasn't as easy as closing the deal on a one-night stand. That he could do with his hands tied behind his back.

"It's just us," said Castiel in a gentler tone. His hand slid across the table and covered Dean's with caresses under his thumb. "We talk about everything in bed each night. This is the same, just in a restaurant with dim lighting designed for a romantic atmosphere to garner larger tips."

"And we're not naked," Dean added with a chuckle.

"Yes." Lines crinkled around Castiel's eyes as he smiled. "But you look wonderful tonight. Not your FBI suit. Just you."

Pink warmth tinged Dean's cheeks and he cleared his throat again, though he was careful not to pull away from Castiel's hand. When the hell did his one-time virgin angel get so smooth? Again, he harbored suspicions that Castiel secretly had a habit of watching Lifetime movies. The pinkness in his cheeks settled and he lifted his eyes to the blue ones looking back at him again.

"Thanks. And, um, you know, you too. You look good."

"Thank you." Castiel's smile turned to a comforting angle. He knew Dean was trying, it seemed.

The waitress came by and took their orders with such little interest that Dean considered greasy diner service much better. He sure wasn't going to leave her a hefty tip. Without meaning to take the lead, he ordered for Castiel, who didn't seem to mind. It reminded Dean again that he wasn't dating a woman and his smooth brand of chivalry probably wasn't going to score him any brownie points in this case. Castiel stood equal to him in all things, not someone who needed hand holding. And then he realized if he ever dated women again … why would they need hand holding too? He felt his brow furrowing at the table. Castiel had apparently rocked his world in ways that he never expected. He saw a lot of things in a new light for the first time, as if the blindfold on his own humanity was pulled off.

"What's wrong?"

Dean's eyes snapped up to his. "What?"  
  
"You're frowning."

"Oh. Not exactly frowning. Just thinking."

Castiel observed him in silence. He leaned an arm on the table and waited. Of course Dean picked up that cue easily. He always wanted to know what was going on in Dean's mind but he rarely offered direct questions about it.

"Just thinking I'm not the same guy I was a year ago. Hell, even six months ago." He let out a slow breath, nodding and accepting it, letting it settle in his gut. "You've changed me. I see a lot of stuff different now."

"Is that bad?" Castiel asked, head tilting.

"No. Just … different." He swallowed a mouthful from his wineglass. "Like this. Drinking wine. No way would I have done it out in a fancy place like this before you. I would've called it girly and ordered a beer or Jack Daniels or something. But it's not girly if I _decide_ it's not. It’s … nice. It’s a relaxing night."

Castiel lifted his glass with a nod. "Wine tastes better than the gasoline you drink at home."

"All right, all right," laughed Dean.

The oblivious waitress returned with their two steaks much quicker than Dean anticipated. At least the food was fast even if the service sucked. Steaks, string beans in vinegar dressing, and baked potatoes for both of them didn't look too pretentious or fussy. Dean could get used to that. And, as they tucked into their dinner, he realized exactly how good wine tasted with that red meat. He was moving up in the world.

"Summer's gonna be over soon," he commented on the fly, seeing someone walk by outside in a jacket.

Castiel swallowed a bite and replied, "I'm looking forward to experiencing snow."

"You'll rethink that fantasy when you’re shoveling out the driveway at five in the morning just to go to work. But you're working in a school so you'll get snow days sometimes." He slathered his potato in butter as he talked. A sly smile occurred to him with the potential. "Snow days will be awesome. Nobody has to get out of bed."

"Is that all you ever think about?" replied Castiel through a smirk.

"Mostly, yeah." Chuckling, Dean shrugged. He pointed at the former angel with his fork. "It's your fault. You have … what should I call it … natural talents."

"Do I?"

"Uh-huh. Toe curling talents."

"Oh." The news seemed to surprise him as if he'd always doubted himself in that regard. A hint of pride shined in a shy smile. "Well, being in love must make a difference in the amount of satisfaction. It is, after all, an act of love. Perhaps it's not me but the  _idea_  of me."

"Trust me. It  _is_  you. And it's better because I—" Dean stopped short.

Castiel's fork hovered in the air near his mouth, pausing with such abruptness that he might miss the rare words if he even breathed. His head tilted slightly as if wondering to himself whether Dean really would say it.

"—Because I—" Okay, he promised to try and make Castiel feel wanted, right? This was what got him in trouble in the first place, making him feel guilty for this turn in their  _bond_. He took a breath and mentally kicked himself in the ass. Saying what he felt shouldn't have caused him such unadulterated fear, yet he'd been that way since he was a kid. And he  _did_  feel the words, so it shouldn't have been that tough. "—It's you. You do a lot for me without asking for much back. And you're a little right. It's better because I do love you."

There. Mission accomplished.

A slow, vibrant smile illuminated Castiel's face the way a man looked emerging from a dark night into the glow of a warm fire. "I love you too," he said carefully, savoring the taste of every syllable.

As he had before when Dean said it, Castiel tucked it away inside of himself and then receded from it before he pushed Dean too hard. He drifted into talking about how much he wanted to learn to fish (but release what he caught - never kill), and his plans to buy a few houseplants. The mundane was a reward. Just the fact that he recognized Dean's limits made him want to do more as he learned it. Constant pushing would have certainly constipated his emotions even more, yet Castiel let him breathe once he knocked loose another piece of his wall. Dean didn't know what to do with the kind of gratitude he felt. Nobody else knew him like that.

And when they finished their dinner, Dean realized he wasn't ready for the evening to end yet. The breathing room Castiel gave left him wanting to extend that night, a lovely starry sort of night, without the threat of monsters or pressing cases.

Outside on the curb, Dean tugged Castiel's hand. "C'mon. Let's go walk on our pier," he suggested.

"Our pier?" asked Castiel, though he followed Dean's lead.

"Sure," Dean replied as they strolled across the street, side by side, headed toward the waterline. "Seems like we always walk off the grease at Deweys on this pier with Pauly or Jenna or whoever. It always ends up being the same one. Might as well be ours, you know?" He slipped his fingers through Castiel's until their hands knotted together. No big deal. He could do that.

"I like that. Our pier." Castiel's expression fought the urge to smile.

A light chuckle shook Dean's shoulders. "It's okay. You can be happy. I'm not gonna freak out on you or anything. I got this."

"Tonight has been more than I hoped for," admitted Castiel quietly, yet never in a malicious tone. "I hope I don't sound condescending if I convey that I'm rather proud of you. I'm aware of how difficult these changes have been for you to accept."

"Hell no. I'm proud of me too." Jokingly, Dean puffed out his wide chest and added a cocky bounce to his step along the wood planks beneath their feet. "I've got overpriced steak and potatoes in my belly. Just enough wine in my bloodstream to make it interesting when we get home. I _am_ gonna get laid, right? The stars are out. It's not too hot tonight. I'm walking down a pier holding hands with my man and I don't really give a shit who sees. Life's pretty fucking sweet tonight if I do say so myself."

"You're drunk," surmised Castiel with a lopsided smile.

"Maybe. So?" Dean brought their knotted hands to his lips and kissed Castiel's fingers between his own. "I'm a lucky guy. That's all. I never really could say that before."

They strolled past closed up fish markets in the dark and boats anchored to the pier. Further out in the black sea tinged with deep blue, lights bobbed on small fishing and lobster boats. Salty air blew over their skin and through their hair. As they reached the end of the pier, Castiel leaned over the rough-hewn wooden railing for a look at the water.

"I think perhaps I might be the lucky one, if there is such a concept as luck," Castiel murmured, his voice soft on the breeze and contemplative. "If you hadn't given me a home when I was cast out, I'm certain I would be living under a bridge somewhere now. I was alone before I knew you, even when I was--" he glanced around, aware that stray people might have heard him, "--when I was what I used to be."

"You're not a stray dog. You're my family," Dean offered. "Bobby always used to say family don't end with blood."

A faint smile came then, as did a short jerk of his chin in a nod.

Dean leaned in closer and nudged Castiel with his shoulder. "Hey. We're here because we wanna be here, right? I mean us?"

"Yes," Castiel replied, turning his face to Dean.

"Okay. So you're not alone anymore because you found your family. It just took you a minute but you found us." He nudged him a little harder. "You can't get rid of us now. Winchesters are for life."

A strange sense of relief filled those blue eyes that Dean didn't even know needed to be released. As much as he struggled to accept being with a man, Castiel might have actually feared that he was an outsider - a guest in the family - and he could be sent away whenever they tossed him to the curb. Sometimes, Dean realized, he got so entangled in his own struggles with insecurity that he forgot to open his eyes and look at the insecurity right in front of him.

Dean's free hand smoothed down a wild patch of Castiel's dark hair. His fingers passed along the line from Castiel's temple, around his cheekbone, and the sharp border of his jaw. The pad of his thumb slid along Castiel's lower lip, barely pulling away before he closed the small gap between them and claiming the familiarity of his mouth in a kiss. He felt fingers tighten around a fold of his shirt near his belt. They leaned into each other, neither fully taking the lead, but both acquiescing to the other with languid passes of tongues and pulling of lips until they swelled.

"Cas," whispered Dean against his mouth.

The former angel brought his hand up to the back of Dean's head and curled into his hair. A teasing little smile arrived with a whisper, "Save my real name for home."


	14. Demon Mommy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the aftermath of Sam, Dean, Castiel, and Charlie cleaning out a bar where demons hung out for hundreds of years, Sam discovers something disturbing about Wilhelmina and her boyfriend. His personal relationships getting mixed in with his supernatural work is nothing new to Sam, but this crisis of conscience only stands to get worse if something doesn't give. Meanwhile, Castiel gets word about the job he applied for and Charlie is looking to spread her wings in Maine as well. Dean, the great caretaker of the family, still hasn't figured out what to do in this "normal" life though.

"Yes… That's correct… Right…" Castiel absently traced his new goatee under his fingertips while he nodded at the phone. "I'm honored and excited to be part of this school, Mr. Ford… Thank you. Bye-bye."

Hands laced together under her chin like she prayed, Charlie watched the call unfold practically under Castiel's feet. Dean watched from a safer distance just outside on the deck, painting Charlie's dresser a rich, dark brown. He'd decided earlier in the morning to give Castiel breathing room should he not got the job after all.

"Well?" he called through the open back door.

A smile accompanied Castiel's nod. "The principal decided to officially give me the job. I am now a teacher's assistant in Jenna's preschool class. School starts a week before Labor Day. When is Labor Day exactly?"

Charlie shrieked and flung her arms around Castiel's neck. "Oh my God, those little kids are gonna drive you nuts, but you got the job!" She laughed boisterously, jumping up and down as she squeezed him.

Once Charlie finally pried herself free, Dean sneaked in for a kiss. "Good going. Labor Day is in two weeks."

"I think I'm nervous," he replied, rubbing the back of his neck with a sheepish smile.

"Cas, you're good at everything you try to do. Don't worry about it." Encouragement brought another peck on the lips.

"Oh for crying out loud," groaned Charlie with a dramatic flare. "I'm gonna barf if you don't quit being cute."

*****

The problem with being good at a lot of different jobs was being pushed into being the fix-it guy, the inventory guru, the bartender, the bouncer, and only getting paid peanuts for all of it. But if Sam didn't unclog the kitchen sink, he couldn't be a bartender that night. His boss was a cheapskate who refused to call plumbers or repairmen unless something catastrophic happened.

So Sam shoved his massive frame under the main sink in the back kitchen and worked the pipe loose. If the cook shoved potatoes in the drain again, he was personally going to fire the dick whether he had the authority to do it or not. Plumber simply wasn't in his job description.

Heels clicked across the floor past him. "Is that all a girl's gotta do to get you on your back?" Wilhelmina's voice echoed from the employee break room.

Sam cracked his skull on the pipe, startled. "Ow, shit!"

"Did I scare you?" she asked through tittering laughter. Somewhere in the break room, she stashed her purse in the file cabinet and chattered loudly. "Oh my God, Pauly, did you hear what happened? Some asshole with a mullet robbed the bar where my boyfriend works and then he set off the sprinkler system to get away. I couldn't believe it! I guess a bunch of people got knocked out somehow. That guy better not show up here or he'll get my stiletto jammed in his balls. I swear to God, I hate tourist season. Every Tom, Dick, and Asshole comes to the city."

The story spilling from her mouth refused to register in Sam’s brain. He dropped the wrench but the clank on metal shook him back to reality. As he slid out from under the sink, his mind shifted gears to the investigator, though he had to be careful. Blending his real identity with the man Wilhelmina knew bordered on the stupidest of all ideas.

"I heard people talking about that outside this morning," he offered conversationally. "I didn't know he worked at a bar. Is he okay?"

"Oh, he was off last night, so he wasn't even there. Lemme tell you though. He's super pissed. Like worse than usual." Wilhelmina emerged from the break room and hopped up on one of the stainless steel tables across from Sam. She languidly swung her legs back and forth as she watched him on the floor. "He's, like, really good friends with the other bartender and the owner. They were knocked out, I guess. I dunno. I always thought Betty - that's the owner's name - I always thought she was kinda creepy myself."

Sam's stomach dropped. He tried to keep his thoughts from scrambling but he couldn't believe what he heard. His head tilted. He reminded himself to be casual about it. "Creepy? Like flirting or something?"

"Kinda, yeah." She shrugged. "She's always calling him in for extra shifts and stuff but, like, they're not even normal shifts. And my boyfriend's a bartender, you know?"

"Yeah," Sam replied, nodding.

"Okay, but she has him running around town picking up supplies and stuff. That's what he tells me. It's weird. I think she might like him or something. I dunno if she even survived. He's busy trying to fund out right now." Sighing, she jumped off the table and strolled toward the double swinging doors opening to the bar. "Ding dong, the witch might be dead."

Running errands. Strange shifts. It stunned Sam and he sat on the floor motionless for a long moment. The pipe still gripped in his hand needed attention. But he had to do what his gut demanded first.

Quickly, Sam shut himself in the men's bathroom and selected a contact to dial on his phone.

"Hello?"

"We missed one of the demons," Sam said tensely. "We gotta get this one. He's already chosen a breeding partner. For all I know, she could be impregnated already."

Dean went tense on the other end of the line. His voice lowered. "How do you know?"

"She just told me but she doesn't even know what she said."

"You know her?"

"Wilhelmina."

"Shit." A heavy sigh clouded the line. "You better test her first. You know, just put holy water in her drink or something. She could be one of them trying to trap you too."

"Right." Of course, he didn't like it but Dean was right.

"Call me when you know."

"Got it."

*****

Dean pressed end on his phone but he didn't slide it back into his pocket. He didn't want to miss Sam’s call should that waitress turn out to be possessed. The possibility that he might have to haul ass down to Portland had him on edge.

"Is something wrong?" asked Castiel. He peered at Dean over his shoulder, seated at the desk between the kitchen and the living room.

"Nothing." Faking a smile, Dean decided not to alert Charlie, on the couch watching _The Wizard of Oz_ , to more demons in the area. He approached Castiel from behind and bent over his shoulder. "What are you doing over here?"

"I've been keeping a journal of my humanity since I returned to you," he explained as he closed an elegant leather bound book, already used up about a fourth of the way.

"Sounds like a good read," teased Dean. He leaned into Castiel's ear away from Charlie's eyeline on the couch. A whisper passed between the hunter and the former angel. "Sammy's hunting a demon we missed last night. Don't say anything. Let's not freak out Charlie until we know for sure."

Castiel nodded without saying a word.

"Quit your yapping, boys! I'm learning to wrangle my own flying monkeys," Charlie squalled from the couch.

"Oh yeah?" Dean flopped on the couch too and took the opportunity to keep up a happy front. "Where you gonna get these flying monkeys?"

"I'm living with them." Her creamy pale face cracked into a wide smile. Leaning far to the side, her arm folded under her head and her bright red hair splayed over the couch cushion. "So I think I'm gonna get a job too. I guess there aren't big computer companies in Maine but I can do something. Maybe that library Sam likes so much has a job I can do."

"You sure you're ready to work?" asked Dean quietly.

"I can't watch daytime TV forever. Those dishwasher soap commercials make me feel defective for not being a housewife." Her face soured and her body shuddered as if reacting to rotten food. "Who wants such a pedestrian life when there's LARPing and a zillion different cons happening every year? Gross. I don't think I can do that anyway with my Princess Leia in a slave bikini tattoo. So I'm getting a job and finding myself a damsel in distress to rescue up here."

"Damsels in distress make life worth living," Dean agreed with a chuckle.

"I heard that," muttered Castiel at the desk, "and I'm recording it in my journal for posterity. Dean Winchester views me as a damsel in distress."

The sarcasm in Castiel's tone sent Charlie into belly-grabbing cackles and Dean rolled his eyes and smirked at both of them. "I get the feeling I'm coming off as a dick in this book."

"A _big one_."

"Oh, damn! Cas, I'm getting up for a high five. Your sass is coming along nicely," hooted Charlie proudly as she rolled off the couch and approached Castiel with her hand raised. "Up top, good sir."

*****

Sam's shift at the bar went from suspicious to downright terrifying in the span of about thirty seconds. He meant to get holy water in Wilhelmina much sooner but she kept her water bottle slipped in her waitress apron. A man like him couldn't just stick his hand in her hip without getting a stiletto in the balls, as she liked to say.

So as his dinner break arrived, he kept an eye on the bar anyway. He kept an eye on her. Sitting just inside the kitchen doors on a stool, people out in the bar couldn't see him but he could see them. The salad went down his throat tastelessly, a mere habit of acquiring sustenance rather than enjoyment. The bleu cheese dressing barely registered on his tongue as he shoveled leafy greens, tomatoes, cheese, and shredded chicken in his mouth.

Halfway through his dinner break, Wilhelmina went on hers and he lost sight of her. She left the building as she always did, choosing to eat at one of the little seafood shacks on the pier.

Sam considered following her but she hadn't done anything remotely suspicious. His gut told him that he barked up the wrong tree. Still, he needed to get holy water on her or in her just to be safe. Demons never ceased to amaze him in slippery, manipulative behavior. He'd gotten attached to Ruby too, after all.

A man strode into the bar just as Sam finished up his salad. His presence dripped of domineering attitude and his stature of over six feet tall with dark hair and dark eyes swallowed up the child balanced on his arm. He headed straight for Harry behind the bar and Sam squinted, realizing he knew that child. It was the baby he held in Wilhelmina's trailer while she cleaned herself up after a horrendous fight with her boyfriend.

Which meant...

"Willie here?" the man asked Harry.

"No," he replied. "She took her dinner break."

The man swore as he glanced at the baby boy without the slightest hint of affection. Suddenly, he passed the child over the bar and shoved him at Harry, who dumbly stood there without a clue of what to do.

"You tell her to be a goddamn mother instead of working at this hole. I can't watch the kid every day."

With that, the man turned to leave. As his face spun in the light, Sam watched a coppery metallic film shimmer over his eyes in the dim golden wall sconces throughout the bar. He shot to his feet in the kitchen and burst through the doors, but it was too late. The man disappeared into the crowd and faded outside. He reeled inside, wondering if he should chase the guy down, but he didn't have the proper weaponry to kill him.

Fuck. Fuck, fuck,  _fuck_.

He couldn't believe he missed all the signs. No mortal man had the strength to wreck Wilhelmina's trailer the way that guy did. He clearly abused her, yet she never left. That was the way of incubi. They stole the life force out of people and made them feel helpless without them so long as they got what they wanted, and then they charmed their victims with almost a hypnotic control to keep them from severing ties. As often as Wilhelmina fought with him, hated him, and ran to Sam for help, she never once considered the possibility of leaving in all their conversations. She was essentially under his spell as long as her uterus could produce the rotten fruit of a demonic union.

"Harry, gimme the kid," Sam said quickly, though he tried to calm down.

His boss clutched the infant far from himself as if he'd never encountered a baby before. Gladly, he handed him over to Sam. "I thought this kid was her nephew."

"So did I," replied Sam. "You know his name?"

"No. Do you?"

"Not a clue." He had no idea how to handle a half-demon baby either. The infant appeared to be almost a year old and quite happily gnawed on Sam's nametag. He didn't have the eyes or the surly demeanor. He resembled a perfectly normal happy baby caught in the center of the shitstorm of the century.

Harry sighed, clearly irritated. "I'm not selling any drinks with a baby back here. Take him to the break room. I'll send her back as soon as she shows up again."

"Got it." That was a perfect opportunity.

Sam took the baby to the back, into the break room flooded by white florescent ceiling lights, and sat at the table. He laid the baby out on that table and made sure no sharp objects sat within reach during his test. It astounded him that a child fathered by an incubus looked and behaved so normally without the slightest hint of his heritage. If Sam couldn't tell the difference between a half-demon baby and a human baby, he knew Wilhelmina had no clue what she did or what her child was in reality.

Or maybe something in him wanted her to be innocent. He didn't know.

A flask from his back pocket contained holy water. Experimentally, he showed it to the baby. No reaction. Not a flutter of dark baby hair or black baby eyes, which unnerved Sam in how much this boy took after his mother's looks.

Sighing, he unscrewed the lid and sprinkled his fingers with the holy water. He knew what would happen and it was going to hurt, but he had to know for certain. A light brush of wet fingertips in a cross pattern on the baby's forehead brought instant bellowing wails from his little mouth. Sam might as well have swatted his bottom for how suddenly and ferociously he cried in pain.

Copper light flashed in his black irises, a perfect circle surrounding the pupils, never bleeding into the whites. Sam guessed demonic eyes restricted to the irises for half-incubus or half-succubus babies. The cross formation he'd painted on the boy's forehead with holy water swelled and increasingly grew blotchy red like a painful rash.

Sam didn't know what to do.

Half the child was human. He was only a baby too. No way could he kill any babies, whether demonic or monsters. He had demon blood in himself as well - how could he justify killing those half-demon babies and allow himself to live?

"Paul, I'm sorry. I'm here now. I didn't know Mark was going to bring him here like that," Wilhelmina said as she rushed into the break room and scooped her squalling baby into her arms.

Sam's face hardened, feeling the need to protect his feelings rise up like a snake. "You didn't tell me he was yours. I thought we were friends."

"We are," she replied, though she avoided eye contact. "Single mothers don't get hired for jobs that pay like this one. I won't work in a gas station. So my sister lets me say Logan is her son."

"His name's Logan?" asked Sam, voice softer with the desire to avoid giving the half-demon child an identity.

"Yeah." She nodded.

Sighing heavily, Sam's tall frame sank lower until he sat on the edge of the nearby desk. "Wilhelmina, we need to talk..."


	15. It Burns

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Having come clean to Wilhelmina about who he really is, Sam stashes her in a motel far from home for her own safety and that of her child. Dean and Castiel join him as they kill the incubus who has been controlling her for years. Despite ridding her of the incubus, Sam still carries guilt over not knowing how to help her half-demon child. This problem, they realize, is so much bigger than random attacks on people in Maine and the half-demon babies being born all over the world.

"Lemme get this straight. Your name isn’t Paul." Black eyes peered over Logan’s head as Wilhelmina held him tightly in Sam's passenger seat.

"Right," he replied. "i'm Sam Winchester."

"And you hunt demons for a living."

"Among other things."

"Jesus Christ." She drank it in and considered what he told her as well as anyone could under those circumstances. "But you’re sure Mark's a demon and Logan's a half-demon?"

"Yeah. I know what to look for and then I tested Logan."

She looked down at the baby on her lap as Sam sped along the highway. “How did I not see it in either of them?”

"You didn’t even believe demons existed before tonight, so you wouldn’t look for signs. Logan hasn’t come into what he is yet either. Not by a long shot. The only way you’d know is touching him with holy water."

"But is my baby possessed? Or Mark? You know, like _The Exorcist_? Can’t we do something? Call a priest?"

Sam sighed. “Wilhelmina, what you know as Mark was probably never him. Even if we do an exorcism, this human man left behind won't know you and you won't know him. Chances are he's already dead and the incubus is just keeping his body alive to use it. This is the only way. I have to kill the incubus before you or other women get hurt again.” He glanced over at her at noticed tears in her eyes - the first real glimpse behind her wall that he’d ever seen. “As for Logan, I don’t know. I’m sorry. I don’t know what we’re gonna do. I promise you that I’ll find some way to undo all this.”

Wilhelmina nodded but she didn’t appear too convinced. Her lips pursed together so tightly that they blanched white. Sam wanted to hold her hand but the best thing he could do for her now was get her someplace safe long enough to jam a blade into the incubus that did this to her.

"I’m scared, Sam," she whispered.

"I know," he replied gently. "It’s okay to be scared. I’m gonna teach you to defend yourself after I take care of this. You’re not gonna go through this alone."

"I don’t deserve your protection. I’ve been nothing but a bitch to you and you keep showing up whenever I call for help." She readjusted the baby over her shoulder as he drifted off to sleep. "Mark - or whatever he is - he could kill you. I can't have your blood on my hands."

"Nah. Incubi and succubi are low level demons. I’ve squared off with much worse." The exit ramp materialized ahead in the darkness and he flipped the turn signal. "I’m not dumb. I knew something was wrong, so I never really took your attitude personal. But, please, don’t call yourself a bitch. I don’t like that. He's conditioned you to think that way."

Wilhelmina said nothing but at least she nodded again. Convincing her to believe him about demons breeding with humans against their will meant half the battle was won already. It took hours and a phone call to Dean and Castiel for confirmation, although Sam chose not to shock her system even more by telling her that Castiel had once been an angel of the Lord. He'd touched Logan with holy water again, which finally pushed her to accept the truth.

Sam’s plan was to take her up to Brunswick, far from Portland and any danger close to the incubus. Dean and Castiel were already on their way to her trailer where she guessed Mark went that night. He certainly waited for her to return as he did most nights in his effort to control her comings and goings. With Wilhelmina and Logan more than an hour away, Sam and Dean, with Castiel’s help, intended to wipe Maine clean of that abominable creature.

At the motel near the heart of the historical district in Brunswick, Sam stashed the mother and child away in a single room. She sat on the king sized bed watching him go through the room checking for any hex bags, sulfur, and anything else out of the ordinary. Once he felt secure about the room, he quickly drew devil’s traps and warding sigils to lock out any kind of supernatural creature that might try to hurt her or the baby while he was gone.

"Okay, that should do it," he said. "Nothing’s getting in here. It’s tighter than Fort Knox. Just don’t leave the room until I come back, okay?"

"Yeah," she replied with a sharp nod. "You sure you wanna do this?"

"Absolutely. Friends do these things for each other," he said.

"Do they?"

"Sure." Sam realized she probably didn’t have any other friends because of that incubus’ control over her. "I care about you, Wilhelmina, or I wouldn’t be doing this for you."

"Why?" Her shameful eyes cast over the floor.

"Why? You’re tough. I like that. And you’re funny. You’re a hard worker. Trust me. There’s plenty about you to like. Now stay here and wait for me to come back. Logan need anything before I go?"

"No." She shook her head. "I think we’re going to try and sleep a while."

"Good idea."

Sam turned to leave but she called out to him and he stopped, looking over his shoulder at her. She laid the sleeping baby down in the middle of the bed. Without looking up, she hurried across the room and latched herself to Sam’s chest. Her arms squeezed him tightly around his ribs, unable to reach his neck at his lofty height, and buried her cheek against the buttons of his shirt. He hesitated but his arms slowly snaked around her shoulders. He leaned down and kissed the top of her head.

"It’s gonna be okay. I’m gonna figure out what to do to help Logan," he whispered into her hair.

"Thank you, Sam," she whispered back.

*****

A single lamp glowed through the living room window. Sam squinted at the back of the trailer from the backseat of Dean’s car.

"How do you wanna do this?" Dean asked from the driver’s seat.

"You’re giving me the lead?"

"This is your case. Cas and I are just here for backup." The older brother nodded at Castiel in the passenger seat beside him.

It surprised Sam that Dean willingly gave up control like that but he wasn’t about to argue it. “Right, okay. I’m going straight in. That’s the plan.”

"What?" Dean glanced back at him, brows furrowed. "Are you nuts?"

"Isn’t that a bit of a risk?" asked Castiel.

"Maybe," replied Sam, digging in his back pocket until he produced a ladies black wallet, "but not risky for a coworker to bring a wallet back that she forgot at work." He offered a knowing smile. "I’m going in first. You guys go in through that back window and get her family out. A mother, a sister, and two small children."

Both of the men nodded at Sam’s orders, although he knew Dean better than to just run the rescue party. He’d jump in to help Sam gank the thing in two seconds flat and maybe the younger brother was counting on it.

Sam hopped out of the backseat and trotted up the street a few trailers to where Wilhelmina lived. As casually as he could muster, he knocked on the front door, feeling the demon blade braced up against his spine and tucked in his waistband. Mark’s stubbly, fat face appeared in the doorway. His dark eyes narrowed at Sam in the most skeptical posture. Sam wanted to throttle him right there in front of the neighbors. Rage curled under the surface just knowing the guy didn’t live there but he waited for Wilhelmina every night like the controlling fuck that he was.

"Can I help you?" he asked, though not at all friendly.

Sam plastered a permasmile on his face. “Hi, I’m Paul. I work with Wilhelmina at Deweys.” He stuck out his hand. “You must be Mark. She says the greatest things about you.” That hurt. Like, he wanted to barf up the words.

"Hi." The demon shook his hand but there wasn’t a single ounce of kindness in his demeanor. "What do you want, Paul?"

"Is she home? She left her wallet at work tonight." To prove it, he held up the wallet Wilhelmina let him use as bait.

"I’ll take it," Mark said as he grabbed at the wallet. "She’s not here and it’s the middle of the night, so, you know, catch you later."

As he pushed the door shut, Sam’s hand snapped out and shoved it open again. “Can’t let you do that, Mark,” he said in a tone that he couldn’t divert from menacing. The truth was he’d had enough of hearing about this asshole.

Mark’s eyes narrowed. “Who are you?”

"Oh, I think you know me by reputation. Most of your kind does." Taking advantage of the lack of recognition, Sam’s boot shoved straight into Mark’s chest and hurled him across the living room.

Immediate reflexes brought Mark back to his feet again as Sam slammed the door shut, locking them in the trailer. His true nature revealed itself as the copper liquid spread over his eyes. Teeth grimaced at Sam. Lips curled back in an evil smile.

"You’re a Winchester," he snarled.

A smirk creased Sam's lips as he casually reached for his demon blade and considered taking his time. Part of him relished in making the incubus really suffer, feeling the flesh peeled from his bones before he got stabbed through. Yet Sam fought those urges whenever they flared up in him. If he gave in to those secretive darker needs to cause suffering as retribution, he'd never rise above the control Azazel's blood once had over him. He breathed slowly, keeping an evenness about his body as the scene unfolded in slow motion. Only a split-second passed, suspended in the room.

"Sexy knife," the incubus commented with a dark chuckle. "How lucky for Willie to have a real live Winchester in her back pocket. You had her yet, boy? She's such a little hellcat. Wait 'til she digs her nails in your flesh and--"

A flash of disgust hurled Sam's arm in a backhanded motion, fist huge and closed like a cement block across the incubus' face. He caught the shadow of Dean's figure creeping closer through the kitchen doorway, but the demon reacted before he could organize. He threw Sam against the far wall with a flick of his wrist, but Sam instantly slid to the floor on impact rather than held off his feet by demonic force.

Sam's lungs struggled to fill with the wind knocked out of him, but he threw himself to his feet under the influence of adrenalin. Laughing suddenly, he flipped the demon blade in his hand, ready to strike.

"You can't even keep it up long enough to hold me back. You guys sure got watered down powers, huh? Sucks to be an incubus."

The boasting did exactly what Sam intended it to do. Dean caught his meaning and leaped through the kitchen doorway, grabbing the incubus by his arms yanked behind his back. The thing growled and hissed like a bad horror movie. His eyes glowed brighter copper as, it appeared, he tried mustering all of his power to end both of the Winchester brothers. Sam's stomach cramped as if something squeezed the life out of his organs but, as he stood over the creature Dean restrained, it became clear that he couldn't do any worse to them.

"Do it!" urged Dean, straining to hold the incubus.

Sam used his imposing size to his advantage, envisioning himself even bigger. He grabbed the incubus by a fistful of his shirt and lowered to his face, nearly spitting on him as he muttered, "You can die knowing we won't stop until all of you are dead."

The blade jammed into the demon's gullet, up through his mouth, and into the wet slop in his skull. Hot flashes of copper light sparked from the body in his death throes as Dean let go of the body and let it slump to the floor. Immediately, Castiel bolted from the back bedroom where, it seemed, he'd been guarding the women and children. Sam stood over the body for a long moment and considered what sort of man he'd been before the possession.

But it was done. One more down. Countless others to go.

"I saw how weak they were in the bar," said Dean in contemplation, "but I still can't believe it."

"Their sole purpose is to mate. They get their strength from draining the human life force during..." Sam broke off, unwilling to finish that thought and think of all the violated women.

"I'd say the waitress wasn't giving it up if he was that weak then," Dean commented.

Sam glared at his brother.

"What?"

Castiel crouched and began dragging the body to the back door as he said, "Dean, clearly she's more than just a waitress to Sam. Perhaps it isn't the wisest idea to comment on what she endured with the incubus. Go test the children with the holy water. We must know how many are affected."

"When did you get so bossy?"

"Being married to you." The former angel winked at Dean as he pushed open the back door with his rear end and dragged the body through it. "Sam? A little help with the disposal?"

*****

Well beyond dawn, Sam returned to the motel in Brunswick. He drove alone, having sent Dean and Castiel to feed Wilhelmina's mother, sister, niece, and nephew in a different motel. He thought she wouldn't be able to tolerate the noise, the questions, and the fearful reactions, especially since Logan was the lone half-demon child among them, it seemed.

Sam let himself into the motel room with the extra key. He slipped in quietly and found Wilhelmina lying on her side asleep with her arm wrapped around Logan's abdomen. The baby slept as well, both looking quite still and peaceful considering the shitstorm surrounding them.

"Wilhelmina," he whispered, bent over her and tucking her lengthy black hair behind her ear.

The sleepy haze relaxed her features as she stirred and rolled a little bit further on her back. "Paul?" she murmured, rubbing her eyes. "I mean Sam. Sorry."

"It's okay. Doesn't matter." Careful not to wake Logan, he sat on the bed beside her. "It's done. Your family's safe."

She sat up, still consumed by drowsiness. "Where are they?"

"My brother's taking them to a motel near Freeport where he lives. I'll take you down there when you're feeling up to it," he said considerately. "We did some tests and... and Logan's the only one. In your family, at least."

Wilhelmina nodded with her gaze turned down to the baby. "What am I gonna do?"

"I don't know," Sam replied honestly, "but there has to be a way to undo this in him. In all the children. I'm not willing to give up if you're not."

"No, I'm not giving up on my child." Her defiant eyes erased any sorrow she might have let surface in her sleepy condition. Leaning forward, she rose up on her knees and linked arms around Sam's neck. "Thanks for everything. I don't know how to repay you."

"Well, we're not done until Logan's cured," he said as he hugged her back. "You guys hungry?"


	16. Fear and Loathing in Maine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After helping Sam gank an incubus plaguing Wilhelmina, Dean confides in Castiel that he doesn't like his brother getting so close to demon issues again. Castiel points out that Wilhelmina was just as much of a victim of demon attack as Charlie was and maybe they shouldn't be so hard on the younger brother for protecting her. The two of them chase a lead without Sam on the ghost harassing homes on the peninsula where they live, but not everything goes as planned.

"I don’t like this," muttered Dean with a hand centered on the steering wheel.

"Charlie’s a grown adult female. She doesn’t require child care," Castiel replied beside him. "It’s all right to leave her for the night for this purpose. I think it’s probably better this way."

"No, not Charlie. I mean I don’t like leaving her alone either but that’s not it."

Castiel studied his profile in the dash lights. “Then what is it?”

"Sammy’s mixed up with this woman. We iced her incubus boyfriend like hunters but now Sammy’s bringing work home with him, letting her and that kid sleep on his couch. I don’t like it, Cas." Dean shook his head as he maneuvered a thin strip of road passing over the bay toward an island in the distance.

"It was never just a hunt for him, Dean. He cares for her," argued Castiel in a gentle tone.

To strengthen his point, Dean flipped his palm up as he spoke. “Yeah and look what happened last time he got too close to demons.”

"Wilhelmina isn’t a demon. She’s a victim in all of this like Charlie and, most likely, countless other men and women assaulted and forced to breed these demon children. We took Charlie in without a second thought after she was attacked. Wilhelmina was attacked many times. The man that demon possessed certainly never gave consent to be used either, which makes him just as much of a victim. Intercourse under false pretenses is the same as a violent rape. The only difference between Charlie and Wilhelmina is our friend had all the information and fought back. Had Wilhelmina been privy to the truth, she certainly would have fought back too."

"Okay, you’re right," Dean conceded a he rubbed his chin in intense thought. "It still makes me nervous not knowing anything about the kid. He’s half-demon, for Christ’s sake."

Nodding, Castiel added, “But he’s half-human too. As long as there’s an ounce of humanity in him, there’s a chance for the good to prevail. He needs people like us to fight for him - for all of them.”

"There has to be a way to cure these kids somehow," mumbled Dean to himself, his mind constantly working the problem.

"For tonight, let’s focus on the peninsula ghost," Castiel urged with a gesture ahead. "We have a good lead."

Dean truly valued the way Castiel’s optimistic nature kept his own pessimism in check. “It’ll be great to take care of at least one problem soon.” He reached over the seat and rested his hand on the former angel’s thigh. “You, Sammy, and Charlie are the only people I want watching my back in this shit.”

"I love you too, Dean," replied Castiel through a faint smirk cast over the black night water surrounding the road.

*****

An innocent little lump under a fleece blanket rolled over and gave a heavy baby sigh. Sam stood in his kitchen and peered through the mesh wall of the playpen in his living room, wondering how something so peaceful like Logan asleep could also contain such potential for evil.

Beyond Logan, his mother slept so soundly in a ball on the couch that it seemed like she hadn’t slept in years. It didn’t even seem like the same person anymore. No sass mouth. No short skirts, makeup, or stiletto heels. Killing the incubus who had used her for so long stripped away her armor.

Sam sat at his dining table with his water, never turning his back on the child… just in case. He couldn’t sleep. Instead, he opened his laptop. The flood of electronic light poured over his corner and he waited a moment just to be sure it didn’t wake Wilhelmina or Logan on the other side of the dark apartment. His mind worked better at night anyway. Lack of sleep was a hunter’s way of life.

A few hours of quiet research passed as Sam tried to find anything to help the child. All of the children. The truth was if they didn’t find a way to cure the kids of their demonic heritage, there was no telling how many would crop up in fifteen or twenty years. Half-demons fighting angels when Dean, Sam, and Castiel aged past their prime? No. That couldn’t happen. He had to remind himself that the situation was so much bigger than curing Logan because he cared about Wilhelmina. But most of what he found about incubi and succubi sounded like bad sci-fi movies. Frustrated, he wished Bobby was still alive to give him some guidance. Not just about that breed of demon but … her too.

His eyes lifted over the laptop and cut through the dark room over her shape on the couch. The slow rise and fall of her breathing gave her a vulnerable appearance. Unguarded.

Abandoning the laptop, Sam drifted into the living room shadows. He leaned over the playpen and found Logan soundly asleep in a nest of his blanket. Satisfied, he stooped over the couch and slid his hands under Wilhelmina’s shoulders and knees. She weighed nothing as if she hadn’t eaten a solid meal in years either. The least he could do was let her sleep in a real bed, and the weight of her exhaustion never let her wake as he tucked her into his own bed for the night.

And when Sam finally wanted to sleep a little while before dawn, he folded his obnoxiously large body on that couch.

*****

"Dean, over here." Castiel waved him closer and pointed out the old kitchen door. "The lock doesn’t even work on this one. I thought you said this was a historical site where people tour every day?"

"Security must not be that tight on an island this isolated, I guess." He jiggled the door handle and pushed it open, sticking his head in to look for any sign of cameras or security guards. Or ghosts. Not that it ever came that easily to them. "Okay, you get to be Sammy. See if you can find anything that says this chick might have really existed. I’ll do an EMF sweep. Got it?"

"Yes, Dean. This isn’t my first hunt."

"Crabby," Dean muttered as he went one direction.

"Bossy," muttered Castiel as he went the other direction.

With a smirking chuckle, Dean clicked on his flashlight and his EMF detector for a sweep of the first floor. Before Sam called them for help ganking the incubus, they had been hot on the trail of a legend one of their neighbors told them about a woman living in a lighthouse with her husband and turned up dead under mysterious circumstances. Living in solitude at the lighthouse drove her insane and her husband apparently bought her a piano with some sheet music to help her. As her insanity progressed, she played the music over and over again for weeks until it drove him insane as well. Though the details were sketchy, one of them snapped and killed the other, then committed suicide.

A loop around the dining room and the old kitchen converted into staff offices offered no readings on the EMF detector. He passed through the central hall into the library. Glass cases scattered through the room displayed artifacts belonging to a long-running series of lighthouse keepers, though none offered readings either.

In the front room - they called it a parlor or whatever - Dean found a piano entirely too old to be from his own century. That added some credence to the legend, he conceded, and approached with the detector. A row of red lights brightened along the top. He backed away and the lights disengaged. Stepping closer lit the device again, telling him that the piano had abnormal electromagnetic waves attached to it. Pianos were made of wood, wire, ivory, paint... Dean looked around the back for any wires nearby. Maybe copper parts existed inside that might offer a false reading.

As Dean crawled around on his hand and knees searching behind the piano, a lyrical tinkling sound startled him into bashing his head on the wall. "Ow!" he growled, rubbing his temple.

The lyrical tinkling occurred again and he realized, sitting up on his knees, that piano keys played themselves. A note here, a note there, and a faint melody appeared in the darkness. Stiff and alert, he raised the EMF detector to the piano keys, making it light up to the maximum possible reading.

"Matilda?" he said, using the name in the legend.

He didn't understand. With readings that high, she should have materialized in the room. He should have seen her. Instead, he only watched the piano lazily play itself like someone in the depths of depression couldn't be bothered to keep the right tempo. His mind's eye nearly saw her leaning over the piano weeping and dissolving into the spiraling blackness of insanity. Her husband couldn't even think of her enough to consider that isolation ruined her. He only wanted the money and free home. She was weak.  _Weak_.

Dean shook himself, blinking rapidly, all as if waking from a trance. He knew too much. How did he know those things?

The musical notes stopped and the EMF detector dropped off to nothing all in the same moment. Whatever it was - Matilda, he guessed - it seemed to completely disappear.

As Dean rose to his feet, a muffled thump upstairs caught his attention.

"Cas!" he shouted.

"Dean!" his muffled voice shouted back.

With another, louder thump that shook the wall below, Dean bolted. His heart dropped to his stomach as he suddenly realized most of Matilda's victims had been men up and down the peninsula. She'd attacked Castiel before and destroyed their kitchen. Their neighbor described husbands dying for the last century and a half. Matilda wasn't going to stop until Castiel became her next victim, a ghost so hateful toward couples who were happy together.

"Cas! Where are you?" Dean yelled on the second floor landing. "Answer me, Cas!"


	17. A Woman Scorned

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Investigating a seemingly run-of-the-mill lighthouse haunting goes terribly, terribly wrong for Dean and Castiel. The ghost harassing the peninsula where they live has powers that she shouldn't know about, leaving Castiel so damaged that the Winchester brothers and Charlie aren't sure what to do. Sam, however, suggests reaching out to someone from their past - a very unlikely ally.

The second Dean hit the threshold of the third bedroom upstairs, or what had once been the third bedroom, a flash of white ripped Castiel off his feet. He hit the floor with such force that the back of his head bounced off the wall. Eyes fluttered but Castiel stubbornly held onto consciousness.

Instinct brought out the glint of a revolver loaded with salt rounds. Dean fired at the glowing white figure bent over Castiel but he missed in the dark.

 _Fuck_.

Dean never missed a shot.

A womanly shape in the white haze lifted from Castiel with a hypnotic undulating liquid flow, staring Dean down as if he could be intimidated. He saw her face in the smoky presence. Round dark eyes pierced through Dean and then Castiel and back again, clearly trying to make sense of what she saw. A hot rush of rage and confusion swept through the house and tore at Dean's coat and burned his face. On the floor, Castiel threw an arm over his head in a vain effort to protect himself.

"Where are your wives?" Matilda’s ghost snarled angrily with a tin can timbre as if speaking through a pipe.

Dean realized she had no idea which one of them to attack if they were both men. "No wives, honey. Just us." A thinly veiled grimace of contempt answered her. "What’s the matter? Never seen two dudes together before? Yeah," he boasted, chuckling, "you don’t know which one of us to torment now, do you?"

"Dean…" mumbled Castiel, speech slurred as he tried to sit up.

"You're done, sweetheart," Dean said to Matilda.

The hunter raised the muzzle of his gun again, vowing not to miss that time. A salt round wouldn’t kill her but it would buy him enough time to get Castiel out of there. But in the sliver of time it took to take aim, he watched, stunned, as the white haze funneled and flowed into Castiel’s mouth. The former angel's body arched in a paralyzed scream as the ghost filled him and took full possession. In a moment, he slumped over and went limp.

"Cas! Shit!"

As Dean flew to his side, once tender and familiar blue eyes snapped open and locked on him with such a foreign glare that he stopped in his tracks. Castiel wasn't in control anymore. His lanky body took on a feline quality as he rolled over on his hands and knees, crawling toward Dean with a predatory stare. Ordinary human eyes glassed over with a milky film. He climbed to his feet with the foreign mannerisms of a once graceful Victorian woman and approached Dean, a giggling sneer playing his goateed mouth.

"Your name is Dean," she spoke through Castiel in a Maine lilt. "I hear his thoughts racing in here. Goodness, Dean, what have you done to this innocent creature? This is no marriage sanctioned by God. This is _sodomy_. This is evil."

"Yeah? This is the twenty-first century. Shove it," Dean retorted. Beneath his biting sarcasm, his mind raced through every method he knew of to force the apparition to release Castiel. Ghost possession - sure, he'd heard talk of it over the years, but he'd never once seen it until that night. And having Castiel left to her mercy terrified him.

Matilda laughed from Castiel's throat. "Do you know what he's shouting in here? Run, Dean! Run! Get away before I kill you too." She made his face fall in feigned sorrow. "Oh my. You've certainly bewitched this poor, innocent man with your sinful life. Let him go, Dean. We both know he's better off without you, do we not?" Castiel's familiar full lips curled back in a menacing smile. "Indeed, you do know you can only bring him pain. Isn't that the way of every man? Devour the people they claim to love in their own selfish ambitions. You relish in being the hero, Dean. This sweet creature scratching away in here only holds you back from your heroic ambitions."

The apparition fell silent, allowing Dean to marinate in her manipulative words. One hand dangled at his side with the gun tighly gripped in his fingers and the other hand slid into his pocket. His jaw clenched as he stared unflinchingly into the milky film covering Castiel's comforting blue eyes.

"Cas, I know you're in there," he said tenderly. "I'm sorry."

"Yes, Dean," the apparition replied. "Tell him how dreadfully sorry you are for leading him into sin and debauchery." As she spoke in that hollow, tin can, warped version of Castiel's voice, Matilda's fingers twisted around the barrel of the revolver. She pulled it up to Castiel's forehead and pressed the muzzle between his eyes. "Be the hero, Dean. You know this is the only way to kill me and set this innocent creature free. What a noble sacrifice for the whole of Freeport. Go on. Pull the trigger, Dean. Show us how sorry you are."

Dean leaned closer and murmured, "Oh, I am sorry."

The apparition smirked.

"I'm sorry this is gonna hurt, Cas."

The hunter snatched the only piece of iron he had on him - a six inch knife he’d specially made years before - from his back pocket. Quick reflexes tore Castiel’s shirt, snatched him by the back of the neck, and pressed the whole of the iron blade flat against his chest. Smoke and boiling flesh brought an inhumanly loud scream from his gullet as his entire body bowed stiffly, the iron forcing the ghost into submission. Matilda’s essence nearly unhinged Castiel’s jaw as the spiraling white column of smoke expelled from him.

The room burst in painfully bright light as the ghostly energy twisted and flowed around the ceiling. Castiel’s body abruptly went limp, collapsing to the floor despite Dean’s best efforts to catch him. A last glance saw Matilda escape from the window in a serpentine path.

Silence.

"C’mon, Cas, wake up," begged Dean on his knees. His hands slid around his lover’s jaw and turned his face for a closer look.

A scorched patch of flesh cut a diagonal swath over Castiel’s chest in the shape of the blade. Dean loathed himself for putting him through that kind of pain but he had nothing else to expel the ghost. Shooting him was never an option. Dean would have shot himself first.

The longer it took for Castiel to come to, the further Dean sank into an internal quaking sense of hysteria. He slapped the former angel’s cheek, burning tears threatening his eyes.

"Cas? Please…" Dean’s voice cracked as he bent over Castiel, gathering him against his shoulder. "Shit. I’m sorry. I’m sorry." Again and again, he repeated it like a prayerful chant. "Damn it, come back. C’mon, Cas. What the hell did she do to you?"

Raggedly, sharply, the body in Dean’s arms inhaled so hard that it felt like he threw himself to the surface of the ocean. Startled, Dean held his breath as he pulled back and stared down at Castiel’s valiant and stubborn grip on life. Sweat matted pieces of dark hair to his forehead and his head curled back against the floorboards. He clutched the burned, raw flesh of his chest with a long, deep growl of anger at the pain.

"Son of a bitch," growled Castiel through teeth clenched so tight that the words barely moved his lips.

Powerful relief mixed up Dean’s emotions until he chuckled and cried at the same time. He unabashedly kissed the former angel’s forehead and cheek.

"What did you do to me?" Castiel groaned.

"Had to evict the bitch. Sorry, Cas. Iron was the only thing I had on me. C’mon. Can you get up?" He grabbed Castiel and brought him to a sitting position, though he seemed more intent on looking down at the burn on his chest. "We gotta get outta here. She’s gonna be back."

With his arm laced around Castiel’s waist and the other hand gripping his arm, Dean helped him downstairs and outside to the car. He kept the iron knife and the revolver within easy reach just in case. Despite Castiel suffering no injury besides the obvious burn, he still barely kept himself upright. It felt to Dean like carrying a drunk to the car after the bar closed. Something was wrong. Very wrong. He managed to pour Castiel into the passenger seat without Matilda making an encore appearance. As he floored the accelerator and steered back to the mainland, he grabbed his phone.

"Charlie? Yeah, go check the salt lines around the house. No, now. I’m not kidding. Meet me outside. You gotta help me get Cas in the house. He’s hurt. He’s hurt bad. Yeah, call Sammy. Get him up here now. Okay, bye."

Leaned back against the seat as if he couldn’t hold his own head up, Castiel watched the road through hooded eyes. “I felt everything she did, Dean. I saw her try to convince you to shoot me,” he mumbled. The words came out slurred.

"You know I couldn’t do that," Dean said quietly. "I’d off myself before I’d off you."

"I know," he rasped weakly. "I’m always going to love you, Dean."

"Don’t do that. That sounds like goodbye."

Castiel’s weak hand dropped on Dean’s thigh with the heaviness of a body not able to fully control its movements. “She took my energy. My immunity. My life force. It’s not something a simple ghost should know how to do. The way she drained me felt remarkably like—”

"—A succubus."

"Yes," said Castiel. "A succubus survives on the life force of her male victims. Under normal circumstances, the act of draining occurs during sexual intercourse, not possession." His drowsy eyes closed as he talked. "This is a ghost behaving like a demon. The question is why."

"Cas, don’t go to sleep," ordered Dean as he brought the hand on his thigh to his lips and kissed it. "C’mon, stay with me."

"I can’t walk anymore. She took everything out of me. I… I…"

"Cas?" He glanced at the passenger seat quickly, eyes darting between Castiel and the road. "Cas! Wake up! God damn it!"

Dean did 90 along the thin strip of road over the bay.

*****

Sam didn’t know what he would find at Dean’s place but Charlie’s tearful, broken sentences on the phone caught him off guard. He sped. He drove like the devil was after him.

Leaving Wilhelmina and Logan alone in his apartment didn’t sit well with him either. He secured every way in and out with salt, yet warning her not to let the baby touch it was a peculiar sensation. Protecting the baby from the threat of demon intruders meant exposing him to things that could hurt him too. Yet Logan never exhibited so much as a crabby attitude let alone signs of half-demon heritage.

But Sam had to put them on the back burner for the moment so long as Dean and Castiel needed him. He made the drive in half the time it normally took to get up to Freeport any other day.

Charlie stood on the front steps waiting for him with her arms hugging her middle. “I’m so glad you’re here,” she said in rushed words. They went inside without so much as a hello.

"What’s going on?" he asked.

"They followed a lead on the ghost."

"I know that."

"Cas got attacked. Something’s really wrong. Not even Dean knows what to do with him." Charlie bounded up the stairs two at a time with Sam following her.

It didn’t make sense to him. Ghost attacks were pretty easy to remedy and not usually worth that sense of panic hanging over the house. He let Charlie take the lead, peering intently over her petite height as she quietly opened the bedroom door where Dean and Castiel shared their space. Only one lamp in the room glowed in the predawn hours. The unusual darkness made it harder to spot Castiel’s motionless body stretched out on the bed with Dean sitting beside him. He stared down at the former angel with his limp hand clutched to his mouth.

"Dean?" said Charlie tenderly. "Sam’s here."

Hollow eyes that hadn’t enjoyed the relief of sleep turned up to Sam with a pleading sense of fear. He said nothing, nor did he rise from Castiel’s bedside.

"What happened?" Sam asked with a sense that he should keep his voice low and respectful.

It took Dean a moment to gather his thoughts. “We went to the lighthouse out there on that island to confirm the existence of the Matilda legend. If we found proof that she was real, we were gonna check county records tomorrow for her gravesite and salt and burn. Everything was cool until we split up. The EMF went nuts downstairs around her piano so I was looking for electrical stuff just to be sure. Cas was upstairs looking for proof of her in the museum collections. I heard a thump.” Dean’s voice wavered and he rubbed his eyes. “So I ran upstairs and the ghost threw Cas into a wall. I shot a salt round but it missed. Then I guess she realized we were…”

Carefully, Charlie picked up there in a small voice with a wary expression toward Sam. “The ghost has been targeting married men, you know.”

"Yeah." Sam nodded.

"Our boys being together confused her. She’s from a different century," explained Charlie, barely above a whisper.

"Oh…" murmured the younger brother in abrupt understanding.

"She jumped into Cas. She possessed him," Dean said, finding his footing in the conversation again. "I couldn’t shoot her with another salt round without shooting him and she knew that. She said a lot of shit about how I corrupted an innocent creature with sodomy and … all that other shit." Guilt visibly pushed down his shoulders as he recounted it. He took a deep breath, shaking himself into continuing. "So I took my iron knife and held it against Cas’ chest. I didn’t know if it would work but it forced her out of his body. Not before I burned the shit out of him though."

Discreetly, Sam leaned closer and saw the outline of a burn on Castiel’s bare chest. “That shouldn’t make him unconscious like this though.”

"No, you’re right," Dean agreed. "I got him out to the car but it wasn’t right. He acted like he had a bunch of anesthesia or booze or something. I mean, he wasn’t acting stupid and drunk or anything, but his body was heavy and limp. He couldn’t keep his eyes open no matter how much I yelled at him."

"What the hell?" It made no sense. Sam’s eyes narrowed at Castiel’s body.

"Yeah. Before he went under, he said Matilda drained his energy. He mentioned his life force and his immunity too. He said this ghost is behaving like a succubus and we need to find out why." Another deep sigh passed through Dean’s body as if he tried to console himself over and over again, yet he acted like he didn’t deserve comfort from anyone else. "He’s been in and out since we got him to bed. Says the lights and loud noises hurt, so no more than one lamp at a time and no yelling. You got it, Sammy?"

"Yeah, I got it," Sam replied quietly.

"I haven’t been able to find anything about undoing what succubi do to men," added Charlie in a guilty tone. "There’s just nothing reliable on these wenches out there and even less on ghosts learning to behave like them. I keep searching the internet but nothing useful comes up. It's like when they drain their victims, people give up and they die."

"Cas isn't gonna fuckin' die, so you just keep looking!" barked Dean much louder than he intended.

The words sank into Charlie like a wolf bite and she recoiled.

A sudden idea passed from Sam’s brain to his mouth before he could think about it. “We need to contact Rhiannon.”

Sharply, Dean looked at him. “Are we at that point?”

"We’re at that point," Sam assured.

"Wait, who’s Rhiannon?" asked Charlie as she quickly shot eyes between the brothers. "Don’t leave a girl out of the plan."

Neither brother responded to the question for a long moment but Sam picked up the torch for Dean, realizing that he was going to have to be the big brother - the leader - until Castiel's vitality restored. "When we were kids, Dad got in trouble on some case in Massachusetts and a witch saved his life."

"I thought witches were bad news," Charlie replied.

"The majority are but there are a few bloodlines of witches that actually help hunters. They believe the modern witches have sullied their practices by calling on demonic forces. It wasn't always done that way. It's the cheap and easy grab at power. A few ancient bloodlines exist today of kind and helpful witches who draw their power from nature as opposed to demon deals."

"Oh. Sorta like Glenda the good witch against the old bat with the green face," she surmised as she sat on the end of the bed and lovingly touched Castiel's ankle. "This Rhiannon the good witch rescued your dad then."

"Her mother did," Dean interjected in a hollow tone. "She died for Dad."

"Yeah, her mother was Amelda. After she died, Rhiannon was raised in the old craft by her grandmother in Rowley, Massachusetts. We haven't seen her in a few years but I'm betting she'll know of something that might help Cas." His eyes slid to Dean, searching the older brother for any sense of acceptance or denial. Eventually, he said, "Dean?"

"Yeah, make the call," Dean said without emotion.

"Guys, I'll drive down to Rowley and see her in person," volunteered Charlie as she stood again. "I'm not very useful here. It'll be better to explain things face to face and I'll bring her back with me. It's just a few hours, right?"

"Do it," agreed Dean. He nodded, just the slightest hint of relief.

"I'll make the call. C'mon, Charlie. Let's leave them alone a while," Sam said, feeling mildly better with a plan.

Before she left, Charlie rounded the side of the bed and slid her arms around Dean's shoulders from behind. She murmured comforting things in his ear that Sam couldn't hear and then kissed his cheek. Dean seemed appreciative of her words as his large hand squeezed her delicate, tapered wrists.

"I'll come say goodbye before I leave," she said, following Sam.


	18. In Sickness and In Health

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Having sent Charlie to Massachusetts to pick up someone from the Winchesters' past who could help Castiel, Dean remains at home watching over him despite him being unconscious most of the time. Sam stays with his brother for support but he's mind is focused on the bigger picture. He knows stopping the demons from breeding and curing the half-demon children before they reach maturity is the only way to prevent war between demons and fallen angels on Earth. It begins, for Sam, with helping Wilhelmina and Logan. It begins, for Dean, with healing Castiel and killing the thing that damaged him.

Careful to control the light in their bedroom, Dean pulled the unobtrusive blue drapes closed as midday sunlight crept along Casco Bay. Castiel had chosen the drapes a few days after Dean painted the room in the neutral slate blue shade he'd wanted. Maybe, he thought with a measure of regret, Castiel could have been an artist if he'd led a different life.

"Better?" asked Dean, turning back to the pale face in bed.

"Yes," whispered Castiel so faintly that Dean only saw his lips move.

Dean sank onto the edge of the mattress at Castiel's side and peeked inside the bandage soaked in salve covering his burn. "Before you go under again, I wanna tell you that Charlie's gone to get help. She'll be back tomorrow. You just gotta hold on a little longer."

A heavy, uncontrolled hand came to rest on Dean's clavicle. "Don't be reckless." His lips barely moved, lips so dry and sickly that the color had faded to translucency like the whole of his skin.

"When have I ever been reckless?" Smirking in a mild attempt at humor, he grasped Castiel's hand and folded it under his chin.

"Dean..." A flicker of a smile ghosted his lips.

"Help is a friend of my dad's. Don't worry about it." The truth was Dean didn't want to waste the small window of consciousness by worrying over whether a witch could help them or not. "You cold? Want another blanket or something?"

"Just stay." Even the blueness in his eyes seemed faded and watery as he squeezed Dean's hand as best as he could muster in that weakened state.

"Do you feel sick or whatever?"

"I don't feel much of anything. It's like floating in a pool without the strength to climb out of it," he whispered. "I'm not in pain or ill if that's your great worry."

"Good. I guess." That did little to temper the sting of Dean's anxiety. His head bowed and he moved Castiel's folded hand from beneath his chin to his forehead. "Cas, I'm sorry I let this happen to you. I shouldn't have split us up without knowing what we were getting into out there. I just thought it was a simple ghost case. I dunno how a ghost learned to mimic a succubus, but I swear to you, I'll figure it out and I'll bring you back better than before. Being here without you ... it's not an option. I just can't do it."

He waited for some sort of forgiveness or admonishment. Hell, he'd be friggin thrilled if Castiel sat up and yelled at him some more about his idiotic brand of recklessness. But nothing delivered from Castiel's lips. Only the even, measured breathing of a man consumed by the illness blanketing his soul.

Dean lifted his eyes and found Castiel's face smoothed and still with unconsciousness. A body could escape sleep whenever it chose, not scratch and claw through the fog for a scrap of life-sustaining energy. Sadness stabbed at Dean's chest, realizing it would probably be hours before Castiel came back to him for just ten or fifteen minutes at a time. As he stood, he draped the former angel's hand across his abdomen and pulled the blanket up to his shoulders. He leaned down and brushed Castiel's lips with his own, but they didn't move the way he always reciprocated kisses.

Downstairs, he found his brother roaming an aimless path around the kitchen and living room the way he always ambled when he talked on the phone.

"Yeah, eat whatever you want in the fridge. I'll come by tonight and see how you guys are doing," he said, his hand in his pocket. "Oh yeah? Great. Yeah, but don't let him crawl out on that balcony thing. I dunno if he can fit through the railing. Yeah, might be a little dangerous." His eyes flashed upward and noticed Dean leaning over the banister. "Listen, I gotta go. I'll call you later. Yep. Bye."

"Checking on the little wife and demon baby?" Dean’s words bit more than he intended but his anger had nowhere to go in that house.

"Don’t start," retorted Sam, his expression shifting to thinly veiled irritation. "Her name’s Wilhelmina and you know that, Dean. Don't be a dick. And no, we’re not together. We’re just friends."

Dean shuffled his way downstairs and shrugged. “We all know where this is going, Sammy.”

"And if it is?"

"I don’t like you getting so close to this demon stuff again." He slumped on the couch, head flopped back.

Sam planted his hands on either side of Dean’s head on the back of the couch and peered down at him. “You really think this is a blood addiction thing again? Come on, Dean. Give me some credit. I’m fine. But if somebody doesn’t think about finding some way to eradicate the demon blood from all of these kids being born by force out there, they’ll reach maturity when we’re too old to really stop the chaos and destruction they’ll cause. Have you thought about the bigger picture?”

"I’m a little busy right now."

"I know. And Cas needs you. I think what that ghost did to him and the succubi and incubi crawling around the planet right now are all connected somehow." Sam straightened up and began the slow pacing that kept his brain on a certain path. "By helping Cas recover and finding a way to cure Logan, we’re working on the bigger picture. We can’t stop with them. We have to find a way to stop this whole shitstorm before more good people like Charlie and Wilhelmina and you are hurt by these things. And Cas if that’s what hurt him."

Dean sighed heavily. “Okay, Sammy. I get what you’re saying. I wouldn’t say I was really hurt though.”

"You were sexually assaulted, Dean," the younger brother argued in that political voice of his. "Just because you’re a man doesn’t mean you aren’t subject to being violated. The demon woman tried to force you into sex. That’s attempted rape. If you and Charlie didn’t have holy water on you, both of you would be future parents to half-demon babies right now." Sam’s back turned to him and he stared at the floor. "The only difference between you and Wilhelmina is you knew how to defend yourself. She didn’t. She’s a good girl, Dean. I’m asking you to trust my judgment."

"Fine," Dean grumbled. Sighing, he rubbed his eyes and honestly did put his trust behind his brother the best way he could. He wanted to know one thing though. "You have a thing for this girl?"

At first, Sam had nothing to say. But then, “I dunno. Maybe. I didn’t like her when I first started working at the bar but it was pretty clear that she was being abused. I just didn’t know how bad. I still don’t. But when we’re alone, she lets me see what kind of a person she was before the abuse. And I like that person. It’s like trying to bust through at the crap you built up around yourself after years of all the shit we’ve been though.” He fell into silence for a time as he gave it deeper consideration. “I do have a thing for her but that’s not my priority right now. Putting things right with Logan is her priority and mine too. You and Cas need me and I wanna be here for you guys.”

"That’s good to hear. I mean you wanna be here," replied Dean quietly. "You’re the glue that holds this family together, Sammy. I’d have never thought of calling Rhiannon to help Cas. If this works, I owe you my firstborn."

Sam chuckled at that idea. “Never pictured you as wanting kids.”

"You never know," he said, thinking of what that prospect would be like with Castiel. "Okay, Sammy, if you like this girl, the I’ll try to think about what you said and like her too. I guess I should know what violence and a shitty life do to a person."

"Thanks, man," Sam said with a palpable sense of relief. "Cas go back under?"

"Yep. Sun got too bright in the room and pulled him out of it. I can’t figure out why light and noise are hurting him so much. Doesn’t seem to be a ghost thing or a succubus thing."

"He’s still with us. He’s tough. We’re gonna see Rhiannon soon and patch him up. If she can’t help him, we’ll keep looking for somebody who can," Sam promised with the kind of sweetness in his eyes that transcended innocence and faith. Sometimes Sam still looked like a little boy.

"Same goes for the demon kids. You know me. I’m always down for ruining demon plans."

"God, you’re cocky," Sam chuckled.

Dean smirked right back. “You know it.”

*****

Late that night, Dean officially hit the twenty-four hour mark without sleep. It wasn't unusual for him but it had been a while since he really kept a hunter schedule. He'd gotten soft.

"Dean, go to bed," muttered Sam from a chair at the end of the bed, his feet propped up on the corner. "Your eyes are bloodshot as hell. Nothing's gonna happen to Cas until Rhiannon gets here. It's stupid to let your body run into the ground like this."

"What are you, my mother?" Dean sneered.

Sam bitch-faced so hard that he might very well have sprained his facial muscles. "You know if Mom were here, she'd kick your ass all the way to Charlie's room and lock you in it until you slept."

"If Mom was here, you'd be a lawyer and I'd be ... something." Dean couldn't even finish that thought. He simply had no clue.

"Okay, Dean," the younger brother replied in one of those annoying Sam tones of condescension. "I gotta get home. I was supposed to be gone a few hours ago. I'll be back in the morning. Go to bed before you collapse."

"Yes, Mommy."

"You're such a dick when you don't sleep."

As Sam gathered up his jacket and his backpack, Dean looked back from the bed, feeling somewhat remorseful about his attitude. "Listen Sammy, bring Pocaho--I mean bring Wilhelmina and Logan with you tomorrow. They can hang out at the shore and, you know, do whatever people do at the shore."

"You serious?" Sam asked, stopping in the bedroom doorway.

Dean nodded. "Yep. I can't have you distracted when shit gets real with Rhiannon coming tomorrow. You gotta keep your head in the game."

"Yeah, okay. See you in the morning."

"Later."

Alone with Castiel, the bedroom suddenly seemed entirely too quiet. Dean bent over him and touched his unconscious face just to console himself that he still breathed and lived. Of course he did but Dean couldn't get used to the silence, the house completely void of Castiel chattering about some nature show on television or asking when they could go skiing at the resort up north. He was dying to go skiing as soon as the weather turned. Snow, snow, snow - he talked about nothing else except experiencing his first real winter as a human man.

The abrupt silence in the house left Dean unsettled. He undressed for bed, making good on his brother's urging that he should sleep. No way in hell did he intend to leave Castiel alone in that room, though, so he crawled under the blankets beside him. If the former angel came to during the night, he'd feel it.

As Dean switched off the bedside lamp, the thin strip of metal around his third finger caught his eye. He'd nearly forgotten about it. It became part of his body so thoroughly that he never even noticed it anymore, but he pushed his thumb against it and considered the implications of being without it. That house, posing as a married couple, and living together in hiding was all supposed to be temporary. Yet lying there in a bed that he and Castiel assembled together, in a room that he painted himself, in a house that contained their secrets ... he wasn't so willing to give it up. And he didn't quite know what that meant for himself. The wedding rings Charlie gave them as props didn't feel so fake anymore.


	19. Like That Fleetwood Mac Song

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Facing no other choice in a cure for whatever might be wrong with Castiel after being possessed, Charlie brings an old Winchester family friend who might be able to help. Rhiannon is no ordinary witch. She doesn't funnel her power from demon deals. Her power is real and ancestral. Dean knows if anyone can bring Castiel back, it's his old friend, so he allows her to examine the former angel. But her news isn't what they expected.

Nobody would ever guess the little boy in red swim trunks out there on Dean's dock was half-demon. He watched from his bedroom window as Wilhelmina, wearing white shorts and a purple bikini top, dunked Logan's feet in the bay and laughed at the way he squealed with delight. Standing on the shore in aviator sunglasses and cargo shorts, Sam brushed his hair away from his mouth and laughed too.

They turned in unison toward the side of the house where the driveway emptied. It clearly came as no surprise to Sam that Dean watched them from above as he looked up to the bedroom and gestured to come down.

"Here we go, Cas," he said despite Castiel being unconscious.

Dean bounded downstairs and outside in time to see Charlie manhandle a suitcase out of the car trunk. He couldn’t let himself relax even though their witch ally agreed to try and help. It appeared that Sam felt rather confident about it though. He joined Dean with a bright smile as if merely running into old friends.

Wild curly brown hair rose over the passenger door as Rhiannon climbed out with a smaller overnight bag thrown over her shoulder. She’d gained weight since he last saw her, resembling the full, shapely actresses in the old movies Castiel liked to watch in the middle of the night when he struggled with human sleep patterns. A white dress floated around her ankles and nipped at the waist with a wide satin blue belt. The large natural spiral curls pouring down her back were the most prominent feature and fit her personality from what he remembered.

"Oh my goddess! It really is you Winchester boys!" she hooted as she slammed the car door. "Wow, you both got huge. What have you been eating all these years?"

"Everything. Trust me," replied Charlie, pulling the roller suitcase toward the house. She rolled her eyes and smirked at the witch in passing.

Laughing, Sam dropped from the front steps and pulled Rhiannon into a bear hug. “It’s been way too long. What are you up to these days?”

"Oh, just running my mom’s shop and reading cards for dumb twenty-somethings desperate to know who their soul mates are," Rhiannon said, hugging him back, and rolling her eyes. "Whatever, you know? It pays my bills. I’ve been on my own since I was seventeen. I do what I gotta do."

"Yeah, I know how that is." Sam nodded and stepped away as if he remembered the real reason she came to see them. "You remember my brother, Dean."

"Hey, Rhi," he said through a slow nod.

She stared for a drawn moment, clearly reading his aura. He remembered that about her. Reading auras or whatever seemed awfully new agey to him but she’d proven herself more than once with her otherworldly abilities. Rhiannon was a skilled natural witch who never had a need to make shady demon deals to develop her power. It came from her ancestry. It came from her blood.

"So it’s true then," she surmised as she looped her arm around Dean's and walked him in the house for private discussion. "You’re actually in love with a man. Well, that certainly explains why we never _quite_ hooked up, doesn’t it?"

Vaguely, Dean noticed Charlie and Sam trot around the back of the house to the shore of the bay. He wondered how Charlie would react to a half-demon child, hoping there wouldn’t be any major dust up. His mind reeled with the little segments of potential trouble all intwining there at his home that day.

But then he remembered it was his turn to speak. He chuckled at Rhiannon and led her to the kitchen, somehow knowing that was where she wanted to go. “We were, what, twenty? Twenty-one? Nah, I had no … I mean … I wasn’t into guys at all then. I’m still not, really. It’s just different with this one. I quit trying to explain it to myself a long time ago, so I don't expect other people to understand.”

"No, I get it. No worries, Dean. Hunters and witches never last long together. We were always better as drinking buddies." Rhiannon unceremoniously began unloading various jars from her bag onto the kitchen counter.

"What about you? Any special guy?" Leaning back against the sink, Dean began to relax a little bit, remembering their friendship.

"No interesting guys." She flashed a lopsided smile at him. "No girls either. At least not right now."

"Oh…" His brow lifted. "So you’re…?"

"Why should a hot piece like this limit myself to one or the other? A tasty aura is a tasty aura." Hips wiggled to accentuate her point for the briefest bit of humor before she got down to business. She pulled three leather bound books from the bottom of her bag and held them against her body as if she intended to consult them frequently. "Don’t tell me exactly what’s wrong with your fella. I’ll figure that out when I examine him. I just need his name and when the symptoms began."

"Two nights ago and his name’s Castiel. We call him Cas in the family," he replied, stiffening again with the awful memory of what bright them to that place.

"Castiel. What an odd name. All right, take me to him. Let’s get started."

Nervous energy followed Dean upstairs as he took Rhiannon to Castiel’s bedside. He didn’t know what he was going to do if she didn’t know how to help him. Just the fear alone felt so weird and foreign. Dean Winchester simply never allowed himself to be afraid of anything but the possibility of failing Castiel exposed so many raw nerves.

They entered the quiet, dark bedroom and he leaned over Castiel with hopes that he might find the former angel awake. Peaceful sleep still blanketed him though. He’d hardly moved since Dean left him.

"Then it is a true love match, as they say," murmured Rhiannon as she put her books on top of the dresser. "Your aura changes just looking at him. It’s really beautiful."

"But what about him? Can you do anything about this?" asked Dean a little more desperately than he intended.

She held out her hands and patted the air in a calming motion. “Hold on, hold on. Lemme have a look first. Have a seat. Let the witch doctor do her thing.”

Reluctantly, Dean let go of Castiel’s hand and stepped away. He lowered himself into the chair in the corner where Sam sometimes kept his vigil over both of them.

In respectful silence, Rhiannon peeled back Castiel’s blankets to his waist. She touched his face in the palms of her hands as if measuring his temperature or some unknowable thing inside of him that Dean couldn’t see. Satisfied with whatever she found, her hands slid lower over his heart. Then, with a gentle touch, she lifted the hem of his shirt to his chest. Her hands cupped over his sternum and she lingered there for quite a while with her eyes closed. Lips moved subtly in a foreign chant that Dean had never heard.

It took so long that Dean came rather near to jumping out of his seat to shake the answers out of her. Her eyes opened again, refocusing on Castiel’s silent face as she stood upright again.

"Let’s go down and talk with your family," Rhiannon suggested in a softer, more professional tone.

"You sound like a doctor with bad news," said Dean as he stood.

"I don’t know whether he can hear me and I’d rather talk with everybody at once. We shouldn’t cause him discomfort with the sounds of our voices."

"You know about that," Dean said, though he couldn’t say that he was surprised.

"You know me better than to think anything will slip beyond my notice, Dean." The way she moved through the dark room, taking her books, slowly walking in that white dress made her look like she floated. Her wild curly hair barely held behind one of her ears as she held the door open to invite Dean with her. "Come on. Don’t be afraid."

They went downstairs together and Dean poked his head out the back door to shout for Sam and Charlie to come in as well. He watched Sam look to Wilhelmina and her face showed nothing but kindness and understanding as she waved a hand for him to go. Dean didn’t mind her so much but she wasn’t family. Castiel’s condition was a private matter. Once they came up with a plan, he figured he could throw some burgers and hot dogs on the grill to feed everybody and let her feel more included, perhaps rewarding her discretion. Of course, he intended to eat upstairs in the dark bedroom with Castiel.

The four of them gathered in the living room with Sam seated close to the window. He always kept one eye on Wilhelmina and Logan playing out there by the shore.

"So," said Sam in his most serious tone, "did you figure out what’s up with Cas?"

"I think so," Rhiannon began with rather obvious trepidation. "But I need to know why his soul doesn't match his body. It's way to fresh out of the shrink wrap to be in a late thirties body like that, so I think you guys owe me some truth."

If Dean ever doubted her legitimacy as a witch before, which he didn't, she certainly proved herself again right there. "Cas was an angel up until last May," he said nonchalantly, almost in complete monotone delivery. "Technically he's about eight million years old, he says, but his grace was stolen and now he's trying to adjust to human mortality."

"It wasn't his choice," Charlie added. "We don't talk about the past because, well, I'm afraid of upsetting him. He's got some happiness as a guy with Dean."

"I dunno about that," said Dean skeptically. "I don't think I'm great at keeping him happy."

Uncharacteristic seriousness faintly wrinkled the pale skin around Charlie's eyes as she looked at Dean beside her. "You are," she promised.

He didn't have the heart to argue with her.

Nodding slowly, Rhiannon soaked in everything and worked out ideas in her mind. "Okay. A former angel. Now, did something get into Castiel? Something inhuman."

"A ghost possessed him two nights ago," Dean said.

"No. It wasn’t a ghost. Not a human ghost anyway. I’m sure of that. No human ghost could drain Castiel the way he’s been drained. It’s so thorough. You do know he’s been drained, right?" Rhiannon’s eyes passed between the brothers and settled on Charlie, lingering there.

The Winchester brothers exchanged communicative glances.

"What?" asked Rhiannon. "Spill it."

"We’ve been dealing with a succubi and incubi problem," Sam explained in a discreet tone as if he feared upsetting Dean. "They’re up to something big. A lot of attacks on innocent people. The way that ghost got to Cas - we think it learned to mimic succubus behavior somehow."

"You’ve overlooked the most obvious thing here, guys. If it walks like a duck and quacks like a duck…"

Steadily, Charlie leaned forward on the couch beside Dean and she grabbed his hand in her slender, protective fingers. “Are you saying that ghost was a _real_ succubus?”

"Yep. Pretty much a parasite looking for a host and Castiel or somebody—" she glanced at Dean, "—ejected the parasite from his body before she could really get her hooks in him."

"Fuck," Dean whispered, the syllable quaking with emotion. He leaned over and held his head in his hands. The weight of it all pressed so hard on his shoulders that they ached.

Charlie leaned in close and rubbed his arm. “Hey man, this isn’t your fault. It’s such a weird situation, even for hunters. You couldn’t have known this could happen. She looked like a ghost, not a demon, you know? I saw her too. I took her for a ghost just like you.”

"We’ll deal with that shit later. I don’t give a fuck how or why it happened," growled Dean. "We need to heal Cas. We need to heal him now. I can’t take this and he doesn’t deserve it."

"Okay, there are two things fundamentally wrong with him right now," continued Rhiannon. "The life force is drained to almost nothing and the immune system has been jacked up. I mean really jacked up. So I think I can restore his life force but the damage to his immune system feels rather deep, like down to the molecules kind of deep. He’s probably gonna be left with an immunity disorder. You’ll have to get him some good doctors to manage it if I can’t fix it here."

"But he’ll live," Dean said, ignoring the rest if it meant Castiel could simply come back to him.

Rhiannon hesitated but she nodded. “Yeah, I’m pretty sure I can restore his life force. I’ll need to look though my mom's and granny’s journals.”

"Sounds like Dad’s journals," Sam said with a passing glance over the leather bound books.

Standing, Dean said with the utmost defiance. “We’re doing it. Whatever it takes. Whatever you need. I’ll make sure you get it.” The oddest sensation of overflowing anxiety brought the burn of tears to his eyes. He rubbed a fist over his face in a vain attempt at looking rather unaffected but it did no good. He knew they recognized the way he felt about Castiel a long time ago. “Just … please. You … you gotta bring him back. I can’t do this anymore.”

Abruptly, Dean left the room and bolted upstairs. He locked himself in the bathroom, having no other place to go for privacy and the need to pull himself together. It horribly embarrassed him showing that much emotion in front of his entire family and their friend they hadn’t seen in years. At least Wilhelmina didn’t witness the outburst. But he couldn’t believe the way he lost it. He splashed water over his face and took a few deep breaths.

_Jesus Christ, Winchester. Get your shit together. Cas can’t get better with you blubbering like a fucking girl._


	20. Not Even Hell Wants Them

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The witch Rhiannon tirelessly searches for a way to restore Castiel's life force with Charlie's help. Dean keeps steady watch over his former angel and feels changes happening in himself through the experience. But when Rhiannon finds the answers they need, it's nothing anyone expected and it leaves Dean second guessing whether he's making the right choices for Castiel.

By lunchtime a day after Rhiannon arrived, Dean's living room resembled a witch’s library. She stretched out on the throw rug, flipping through all three of her leather bound books. Reinforcements in Charlie sat on the couch taking notes from books Sam dropped off in his early morning library run. Everyone worked for Castiel’s recovery and Dean hardly knew how to express his gratitude.

"You comfortable down there, Rhi?" he asked as he leaned on the kitchen door frame and tilted his head to an extreme angle for a better look at her.

"Yep. I think better if I don’t feel crowded. Floor’s a great place to stretch and roll around." She flipped another page and smiled at him.

Quiet, observant Charlie examined Dean over the back of the couch. She didn’t seem as nonchalant as Rhiannon. “Have you eaten yet today?” she asked, her tone gentle and sisterly. “I could make you a sandwich. Or I could go out and get a pizza or something. You gotta take care of you too.”

"I’m gonna have Sammy bring Chinese food by later," he replied.

She frowned in serious disapproval. “He doesn’t get off work ‘til two in the morning. Nice try.”

"Nothing changes," mumbled Rhiannon on the floor. "Still doesn’t take care of himself. Better shove a funnel in his mouth and jam a salad down his gullet, Charlie darlin’. Can’t get vegetables in the guy otherwise."

"Kinda like when I had to give my dog pills when I was a kid," said Charlie through a faint smirk. "I had to put it in a little square of cheese to get Butch to swallow it."

"Butch?" Dean smirked.

Laughter bubbled from Rhiannon’s throat. She flipped on her back and pressed her hands to her abdomen, long tendrils of spiral hair flung over the rug. Upside down, she looked up at Dean in the kitchen doorway. He should have given the girls some smart ass response, but honestly, they were a cool distraction. At least they still knew how to find entertaining moments in awful bullshit life handed them, kind of like when Dean was younger and not so jaded. He smiled faintly at their giggling and thought it was pretty awesome that they liked each other.

"Okay, I’m making you a sandwich and you’re sitting down and eating the whole thing where I can see you," ordered Charlie as she passed into the kitchen, smiled, and patted his stomach.

*****

The former angel Castiel woke at 8:46 that night for the first time in twenty-four hours. Dean nearly jumped over him when he saw the flash of blue eyes looking back at him. He shoved aside the bowl of ice cream Charlie had thrust into his hands on his way upstairs. Careful but smiling with sincere relief, he leaned over Castiel.

"Hey you," he murmured.

"What time is it?"

Dean glanced at the clock on the nightstand. "Almost nine."

"Friday?"

"Sunday night."

"Oh..." Castiel's eyes fell slightly as if disappointed.

Hoping to temper his miserable state, Dean clutched his hand between both of his and kissed his knuckles. "Feel that?" he whispered, pulling his lips across more knuckles and settling on the top of his hand.

"Yes," he mumbled with an attempted smile. "I've been having dreams about you, Dean."

"Hmm. Good or bad?" Uncaring if it made him soft, Dean rested his cheekbone on Castiel's folded hand and memorized the little details in his eyes while he was awake.

One corner of Castiel's mouth slipped upward groggily. "Really good. We had Christmas together. A decorated tree. Everything humans do. I enjoyed it a lot. And there was another dream about riding beside you in the Impala again. I think I might actually miss that old, loud car of yours."

"We can do that," Dean promised. "I don't really know how to do Christmas but we'll figure it out if you want. Can't really do much about the Impala right now though."

The patient swallowed quite hard as if his tongue felt dry and thick, stuck to the roof of his mouth. But he still gave Dean a little smile and a nod.

"Listen, Cas, I've got an old friend here to help. Her name's Rhiannon. She's a witch but not the rabbit skinning kind that we hunt. Don't worry. I'm not doing anything shady to fix you. I know you wouldn't like it."

"You're quite right," Castiel agreed with a slow nod. "I don't want you to do anything reckless."

"I'm not," promised Dean, rubbing his wrist to keep him awake a little longer. "Rhiannon's good at what she does. She's gonna find some way to give your energy back. She's been calling it your life force. We don't know how yet exactly but I'm not gonna quit until you're back to your old self."

Nodding, Castiel's head rolled to the side on his pillow and looked Dean in the eye. "I trust you. If you trust this witch, then I do too." He swallowed dryly again. "I have no wish to die anymore, Dean. Once I told you I was afraid I might kill myself but I don't want to feel that way now. I feel like I've only just begun to live. This simply can't be how I end, not with so much left to do and experience with you."

"You're not gonna die, Cas. No way in hell am I gonna let that happen," Dean swore with a lick of determined fire in his gut.

Blue eyes faded again. Dean wondered if the diminished light in those eyes would have been noticed by anyone else. Sometimes he felt that he could see straight into Castiel's soul, not that he would ever say such a softhearted thing out loud. But he knew a blanket of unconsciousness crept over Castiel again.

"Dean?"

"Yeah?"

Castiel's tongue flicked over his lips and his breath turned sharp and labored as if he felt pain. "Tell me you love me," he whispered. "Just once. I'll never ask again if you don't want me to."

It hit Dean like a cinderblock to the chest. He let go of Castiel's hand and rose to his feet so that he could bend squarely over that groggy face. A calloused hand used so often to rip apart and kill monsters skimmed along Castiel's jaw in the utmost tenderness. That kind of raw affection so rarely passed between any lovers where witnesses might judge them.

"I love you, Cas." The softness of his own voice took him by surprise. He dropped a long, chaste kiss on Castiel's dry lips and said, "I love you," again just for him.

*****

The encounter, the conversation left Dean unsettled as he aimlessly plopped down the stairwell. Castiel quickly drifted off again. He didn't like the way all of their encounters with consciousness sounded so uncertain. Like the last conversation each time. He couldn't stomach it. No, he couldn't allow it. Losing Castiel felt like losing half of his own body.

"There you are," Rhiannon said with an open journal tucked under her arm as her swaying hips brought her into the hallway. "I was just about to come find you. I found something."

"Good. I could use some good news," he replied as he led her to the living room. He sank onto the couch beside Charlie, noticing a book open to images of awful female demonic creatures. "What have we got, ladies? Lay it on me."

Rhiannon knelt opposite them and opened her ancestral journal on the coffee table. "Well, my mom and my granny never encountered any succubi or incubi."

"I said I wanted good news," Dean said.

"Patience, young grasshoppa," said Rhiannon with a sassy eye on him. "My mom and my granny never encountered one of these skanky succubus things but my great-granny _did_. She helped a hunter when she was seventeen who caught one in a devil's trap. They interrogated it because apparently the thing that got your Cas took advantage of the influenza pandemic in 1917 and 1918 like the parasites that they are."

Dean's eyes narrowed. He didn't understand. "Wait, there's more than one of these freakish things?"

"About fifty worldwide," said Charlie quietly. "Maybe more."

"I thought it was just a fluke," he replied.

"So did we." Nodding, Rhiannon skimmed a finger down a passage in the leather bound journal. "Okay, so the interrogation revealed that the demons as a collective were looking to take advantage of the chaos brought on by World War I. Demons always take advantage of wars. It's their bread and butter. The Queen of the Succubi was called Naamah and she was disgustingly ambitious, even for demons. She was making a grab for power and came up with a plan for the succubi to seduce angels and create demon-angel hybrids. Really, she was trying to build her own species, you could say, that would rise up and overtake Hell. She wanted the throne."

As she paraphrased, Rhiannon turned the page. "Well, the higher-ups in Hell caught wind of her plan and decided seducing  _angels_ was too stupid, too reckless, even for the evilest of evil. It opened Hell to the wrath of Heaven and they knew Heaven had far more power. So they rounded up Naamah and the succubi beneath her who they knew had already attempted seducing angels, and they were banished from Hell. There was a binding spell to keep them from possessing humans very long. We're talking minutes."

It stunned Dean. The story was the last thing he ever expected. "So Hell doesn't want these things and Heaven doesn't want these things either. They're kinda stuck in limbo."

"Right," replied Rhiannon with a nod. "But these aren't all the succubi. Just a small percentage chose to go along with Naamah's grab for power. The banished succubi have apparently adapted to look and behave like human ghosts, which is what you saw. That one across the bay probably smelled the old angel on your Cas. His past made him a target. I'm betting she thought she could soak up more power out of him than just a regular human."

"Okay, but how do we fix him?" As interesting and weird as the story was, Dean needed to get Castiel back in fighting shape before they thought about anything else. "Please tell me you have a plan."

Rhiannon flipped her journal around to face him on the coffee table and she tapped her fingernail on the page. "Infusions," she said. "My great-granny wrote everything down. This succubus they caught was more than willing to throw the banished succubi under the bus. The hunter who caught the thing was trying to figure out how to stop people from dying in the pandemic. Most of them weren't dying of influenza, it seems. They were dying because the banished succubi were draining them dry of their personal life forces. It's like food to them. So those banished succubi were feasting on the spoils of a worldwide pandemic and making it worse."

A quick eye scanned the recipe carefully scripted on the journal page. Just seeing the possibility of something to help Castiel brought Dean's strength back.

Charlie leaned closer and looked over the page too, but she'd clearly already gone over it. "We mix up this stuff and make Cas drink three doses every hour on the hour," she explained. "Then we wait for three days. We won't see any improvement on the first day but he's suppose to get better in parts on the second and third days."

"Are we sure about this?" he asked cautiously.

"Well," shrugged Rhiannon, "people started getting better in 1918 once this infusion started going around. Nobody really talked about it because it didn't come from real doctors. Everybody thought it came from witches like me because of my great-granny and nobody gave witches credit in those days. It was all about modern medicine coming into its own. But the death toll decreased dramatically from what I can tell."

Hesitation and fear came over Dean, knowing Castiel hung on by a rather thin thread. His jaw clenched as he turned over the decision in his mind. If he gave Castiel the infusion and it killed him, then the death of the only person he ever truly loved would be on his hands. He'd never forgive himself for that. Yet if he chickened out and Castiel remained in that near vegetable state for years, or even the remainder of his life, then Dean would spend his life wondering what if he'd had the balls to simply try. Just try.

He studied Charlie beside him, who may have been the only person who could have understood his position. "Would you give this infusion to your mother if there was a chance you could heal her?"

"Yeah, I would," she said, her eyes misting over. "I think you have to try."

Dean nodded. "Okay. Let's do it then."

The witch, having received permission to do her work, pushed herself up from the floor and gathered her books. "I'll start getting together the stuff. Hopefully we can do this tomorrow." She gave Dean a compassionate expression as she pushed the length of her curly hair behind her shoulder. "Don't worry, Dean. I'm gonna do everything I can to bring him back."


	21. Of Hope and Consequence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The day the witch Rhiannon begins her efforts to restore Castiel's life force, Sam is running horribly late. He finds himself in an unexpected argument with Wilhelmina that turns into a terrifying admission of what the incubus did to her. Witnessing evidence of her torture unexpectedly brings them closer together. Meanwhile, at Dean's house, Castiel briefly comes to consciousness while they're readying the restoration process and he delivers shocking news.

Oversleeping wasn’t like Sam but he felt like he was stretched beyond his endurance. He hadn’t been so out of shape with keeping a hunter’s schedule since college. Lack of sleep stood at the top of that list. But being a hunter didn’t mean keeping a regular job either.

"Wilhelmina, you guys ready to go?" he projected through the apartment. "Where are you?"

When she didn’t yell back, Sam tossed his toothbrush in the cup and made a quick search of his place. He found Logan sitting on the floor with his toys by the open balcony door in his bedroom. Wilhelmina sat so silent and still out there that he nearly missed her thin willowy figure in the plastic white chair. She stared out across the street at nothing in particular. And as Sam stepped closer he noticed the shiny streak of a tear running down her cheek.

"What am I gonna tell my son?" she asked, her voice shaky. "What am I supposed to tell him when he asks me how I let this happen to him, how I let him be born a monster?"

Sam hesitated. It was the worst time for such a deep conversation. He had to drop them off with her sister and then rush up to Freeport to help Dean, Charlie, and Rhiannon with the infusions they talked about giving to Castiel. But he stepped halfway out onto the balcony and crouched to her level. There wasn’t enough room for both of them out there. He draped a hand over her wrist.

"You’re gonna tell him you didn’t know what his father was and that he treated you badly," Sam said patiently. "And you’re gonna tell him you love him. You’ve always loved him and you’re doing everything you can to be a good mother."

Wilhelmina scoffed rather bitterly and looked at him through tearful, dead eyes. “He treated me badly? You don’t know the half of it, Sam.”

That felt like a knife to the gut and he reacted before he thought it through. “Maybe I would know more if you’d talk to me once in a while. A woman gets treated like shit and then she takes it out on everything with a dick. I’m not the bad guy here. I’m letting you and Logan stay in my house and I’ve given you my own bed. I’m doing everything possible to find some way to correct his condition. And I do all this even though you stare off into space for hours at a time instead of talking to me. I do it because I actually care about you but you won’t let me. So excuse me for not knowing the half of it. That’s not on me.”

Of course Sam didn’t mean to snap on her like that but he’d been walking on eggshells in his own home for days. He lost his temper with the suggestion that he purposefully didn’t care to understand what she went through.

She stared blankly at him for a moment but then her black eyes ignited with fire. The kind if fire he saw in her when they first met. He wondered if he would ever see it again, but there it was, aimed directly at him. And he didn’t even want to duck. If getting her angry snapped her out of that apathetic depression, then he’d piss her off every day for her own good.

"You wanna know?" she seethed as she leaped from the chair and stalked back into the apartment. "You wanna know what he did to me?" Wilhelmina stood stiffly at the end of his bed. Her hands shook with the memory of that creature, or they shook with her anger - Sam wasn’t sure which. Fingers clumsily rushed through unbuttoning her shorts.

"Wait, I don’t—"

She shoved down her shorts to the floor, exposing a pair of minty green panties. Sam’s first instinct made him avert his eyes until he noticed a white line running horizontally into her inner thigh. As she stepped closer, he noticed several more white lines etched into her tender skin. Raised lines. Scars. Swollen, mutilated tissue marked each thigh a total of eight times. Sam’s throat went dry and it felt like a rush of acid invaded his stomach. He looked up at her hardened face, speechless.

"Yeah, Sam. You could say he treated me badly." Her lips trembled but she kept herself from breaking down in a bout of tears. "I got knocked around one too many times while I was pregnant. He said it would make the baby strong. I just thought he was nuts. So after I had Logan, I didn’t want him anymore. Of course I know now that he just wanted to keep breeding. And every time I didn’t want to have sex, he held me down and he sliced into my thighs with a kitchen knife to try and intimidate me into being his toy whenever he wanted. Look at it, Sam. Look at it!" She grabbed him around the back of his head and forced him to face her legs. "You wonder why you don’t know the half of it? Because I don’t want to remember! Every time I look at my thighs, I see him. I don’t get the luxury of forgetting and I was trying to spare you thinking about it every time you look at me too."

"Wil—" Sam stopped short, at a loss for words. "I’m really sorry."

"Yeah, well, now you know." Wilhelmina stooped quickly and tugged her shorts up again. She couldn’t seem to look him in the eye anymore after telling him such an ugly secret, as if she wanted him to see her a certain way that was no longer possible.

"I didn’t mean to snap like that," he said. "I’m just trying to help."

"I know." She nodded and shakily wiped her eyes.

The impasse between them brought Sam to his feet and he approached her with his arms opened enough to bring her closer. He had some suspicion that nobody ever considered her feelings because she made such a good show of not having any. He knew better. He’d been through the Dean Winchester school of repressed trauma.

"No." Her body tightened up. The anger in her features recoiled into fear and self-loathing. "Don’t touch me." A hand half-heartedly swatted at his chest as tears spilled down her cheeks once more.

Sam didn’t listen to her. He came closer as she backed away, his hands open and showing that there were no tricks. “Wilhelmina, we’re not all trying to hurt you.” His voice lowered to the softest tone he could physically produce.

It got to her. The more kindness he offered, the harder she tried to fight him. A terrible, strangled sob pushed up from her chest.

"Stop it!" she whimpered.

Without a word, Sam gripped her around the waist with one arm and pulled her to him by the shoulders with the other. Fists pounded his chest and her face turned away, twisted with anguish. If he really thought she wanted to be left alone, he wouldn’t have touched her. But as much as her hands half-heartedly pushed him back, her feet remained firmly in place. She wanted comfort but she didn’t know how to seek it. Maybe she didn’t think she deserved it after being so mentally beaten down for the last few years.

And then, mercifully, she went limp. Wilhelmina quit fighting and her face dropped against Sam’s chest. The loose arms he left around her, giving her the freedom to escape, tightened into security as her hands squeezed his biceps rather hard. Fingernails dug into his muscles. Once she accepted that he meant only to comfort her and not hurt her at all, she latched on and refused to let go. Sobs racked her body. Exhaustion. Sorrow. A hell of a lot of anger bled out of her as if the levee broke.

"It’s okay," he whispered, a hand moving to the back of her head. "You know nothing’s gonna scare me off. Not a scar. Not eight scars. Not a hundred. Okay?"

"I hate myself," she sniveled miserably against his chest.

"I know how that goes. I hated myself for a long time too." A sudden thought occurred to him. "Wait, you need to see this." Sam took a step back and lifted his shirt to his chest. He pointed out numerous scars just like hers. "See this? And here. And this one over here too. All this right there. I got all these scars from fighting demons. You know what that means, right? You’re not a victim, Wilhelmina. A victim would just lay there and let him do what he did. Those scars mean you fought back. You’re a _demon fighter_ just like me, not a victim to be pitied.”

Deep black eyes scanned the lines and planes of his muscles interrupted and broken by scars that resembled her own. “A demon fighter?” she repeated in a small voice. Her mouth quirked up in a hopeful little smile.

"Yeah." Sam replaced his arms around her waist and her shoulders. "You’re too strong to be this broken very long."

"Why are you so good to me?" she mumbled into his chest.

"Because I care about you."

Both Sam and Wilhelmina fell into silence. Neither moved away. Neither let the other go. He was incredibly late for starting his day, but as she slipped her hands around him, she buried her face in his neck. Being so late didn’t seem to matter all that much anymore.

*****

Glass jars and magically protected wooden boxes spread over Dean’s dining table made the room look like an old apothecary. He stood off to the side watching Rhiannon take stock of her personal supplies. No wonder one of her suitcases had been so heavy. He’d been silent most of the morning - jittery, silently terrified, and maybe just a little hopeful that they could pull off a miracle.

"Hey," Sam greeted everyone as he rushed into the house. Circles under his eyes and drooping shoulders suggested how tired he was lately.

"You’re late," said Dean from behind a hand absently rubbing his mouth.

The younger Winchester nodded with a guilty expression. Charlie came by and stood on her tiptoes to kiss his cheek, but Rhiannon couldn’t pull her attention away from her supplies. She only waved hello in an afterthought. But Dean, he tried to control the beast of his temper, knowing it had nothing to do with Sam being late. Hell, they never showed up on time anywhere before. Why start now?

"Everything going okay?" Sam questioned, though he seemed distracted.

Rhiannon hummed some sort of affirmative response as she unscrewed the lid of a jar and inhaled the herb’s scent. “We’ll get the home ready and then we’ll be casting the circle after dark,” she told him in the briefest explanation. “You’re tall, so I’m gonna need you to sage each room up around the ceiling.”

"I’ll do the rest of it," Charlie volunteered.

The women exchanged smiles. Slow smiles, in fact, as if they enjoyed helping each other but they didn’t want to display that kind of levity in such a dark time for Dean and Castiel. A moment let go and Charlie dropped her eyes away, making a quick but silent exit from the room for some other chore.

"Let’s go take a walk," said Sam, completely oblivious to the minor shift in the room.

They hadn’t spent much time together since moving to Maine, Dean realized with that request, and he felt bad about it. “Yeah, okay,” he agreed as he followed his brother to the back door. It didn’t seem that he wanted fun brother time. He had something heavy to talk about and Dean steeled himself for the impending confrontation. He just knew Sam was going to call him out on something.

The silence that fell between them as they strolled down the shore unsettled him though. Silence had always been Dean’s worst enemy. It let him consider all of the possibilities and most of them ended up being awful. His eyes turned off to the side and cast over the calmness of Casco Bay. The rocky shore crunched beneath his shoes and a cool breeze cut through him, alerting the little peninsula to the pending autumn.

"I was thinking about these spells and stuff before I got up this morning," Dean began quietly. "Maybe they work because people believe they’ll work."

"I could see that," agreed Sam in a quiet tone to match. "But Dean, I gotta know, do you really think this is gonna bring Cas back? I love Rhiannon and I think she’s great at what she does, but how do we know this spell even works? What is it? Infusions? Do we have any hard facts about this?"

Dean arched a brow at his brother. “When do we ever have hard facts to back up anything?” he argued. “Most of the time, we’re doing guesswork at best and working off hunches.”

"I know," Sam said with a slow nod, eyes turned to the sky. "Are you gonna be okay if it doesn’t work though? I think you need to consider it. Cas very well might not get better."

"I dunno, Sammy. I wish I could tell you I'll be cool but I'm not ready to let him go. I don't think I'll ever be ready." Dean’s arms crossed over his chest and shook off an odd chill. “If this doesn’t work, I’ll find something that does. Older witches, voodoo priestesses, faith healers, doctors - whatever it takes. You know me. I don’t give up without a fight.” The truth was, he couldn't let himself think about the possibility that it might not work. He needed Castiel more than he wanted to admit even to his brother.

"Okay." The empathy shifted into Sam’s particular hard determination. "Just wanted to know what we're in for here."

"Sammy, you don't need to hold my hand through this shit," argued Dean. "I know you've problems of your own. And don't think I've jumped ship on the demon thing. Soon as I get my hands on these copper-eyed breeders, the happier I'll be breaking some necks. These kids - Cas wouldn't want me to forget about them whether he makes it or not." He eyed his younger brother carefully. "I know you like this girl, so we gotta fix her kid. Don't worry. You're not doing that alone."

Mentioning her name cast something over Sam's eyes that Dean couldn't quite identify. "Yeah," he said simply. "Wilhelmina ... she's ... she's struggling. She finally started opening up to me today. That's why I was late. We had a ... situation."

"Dean!" yelled Rhiannon from the deck. "Cas is awake! He's asking for you!"

Without thinking, Dean immediately took off toward the house with a glance over his shoulder making sure Sam followed. He rushed past Rhiannon, uncertain of how long Castiel would be awake this time. As they pushed into the bedroom upstairs, Dean found Charlie perched on the edge of the bed with Castiel's hand. She talked to him in a low, comforting tone but he couldn't hear what she said. He stood over her shoulder and peered down at his pale face.

"Cas," he said softly, "I'm here."

Blue eyes darted to his face. Something urgent looked up at him from the pillow. "The angels know where I am," he mumbled as if fighting to hold onto clarity.

"What? Nobody's been here," said Dean.

"Yeah, I checked the property before I came in the house," Sam added from further back in the room.

"No." Swallowing hard, Castiel's hooded eyes blinked slowly and he refocused his effort to explain. "It was my subconscious. One of them got into my dreams. They ... they," he paused, swallowing again. "They offered me a deal. No, no, it wasn't a deal exactly. It was coercion."

His eyes fluttered and Dean knew he drifted under again. "Cas? Cas, wait. Hold on. Talk to me. What deal?"

But it was too late. Castiel lost consciousness again.


	22. Witch Doctor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The race to restore Castiel's life force requires the help of everyone in his family. Dean struggles with surrendering control to Rhiannon, knowing he would never like handing over control to anyone except himself. As the ritual progresses, they hit a roadblock. Are they going to be able to save Castiel before it's too late?

"What do you wanna do?" Rhiannon questioned in a low tone.

"Bring him back," answered Dean, staring past the witch to Castiel’s still body tucked in their bed.

She briefly looked over her shoulder as well. “You don’t wanna wait for him to wake up again and find out what he meant with all the angel talk?”

"No, that could be hours. Doesn’t matter what deal they offered anyway. He’s gotta get healed so he can take on whatever they throw at him. He can’t defend himself like this. So we bring him back," said Dean, growing stronger the more he thought about it. "We have to try."

"Okay." Resigned to the task, Rhiannon’s presence shifted to something much more centered. She opened the bedroom door and stuck her head into the hallway, delivering orders to Sam and Charlie. "We’re moving forward. Cleanse the house and set up the altar outside the way I taught you." Then she returned to Dean and took his hand. "I gotta go ready myself now. You remember how to get him ready, what I said."

"Yeah." He nodded but he didn’t let go of her hands. "Rhi, you can do this, right?"

She flashed a smile. “I’m a badass witch. I can do anything.”

The self-proclaimed badass witch left Dean in the bedroom alone with his unconscious angel. No, he wasn’t an angel anymore, but Dean still thought of him as his personal angel perched on his shoulder. The phrase crossed his mind and brought out a chuckle, thinking of how robotic Castiel had been years before when he denied being that very thing. Everything had changed in the years since then. The angel learned to feel and his emotions latched onto Dean with a ferocious grip.

"We got this, Cas. Something’s in the air. I know you can’t feel it right now but I do," said Dean as he set about to undressing Castiel like an overgrown doll. "Sorry ‘bout this. Rhi says you gotta go in a ritual bath for a while. Can’t wear any clothes."

Leaving Castiel undressed and exposed to anyone who might come in the room didn’t sit well with Dean though. He wasn’t modest at all but Castiel was, unconscious or not. They were just gong to have to live with it. Dean trotted down the hall to the bathroom and, finding Rhiannon on her knees filling the tub, he grabbed a towel off the rack. She wore the billowing black ritual robe of a witch and mumbled a language he couldn’t understand as she swirled the tub water with her hand.

And without interrupting her ritual, Dean made a quiet, swift retreat to the bedroom. He draped the towel over Castiel’s midsection just to cover him below the waist. Maybe then Sam wouldn’t have to see him totally naked while they carried him into the bathroom.

Dean didn’t know why he obsessed about it so much. Life was so much more important than his brother seeing his lover without clothes. He rubbed a tight hand over his mouth and paced nervously around the room. It had to work. He couldn’t accept the idea of Castiel not coming back after the three doses of Rhiannon’s infusion. The sick part of the whole thing was there was no god left to pray to in a last act of desperation. He had to rely solely on Rhiannon’s pagan gods after a lifetime of killing things like that.

A pungent odor wafted under the bedroom door long before Sam and Charlie appeared with braided ropes of smoking sage in hand. Dean's face steeled. Letting them see his anxiety didn't seem like the wise thing to do. He was the backbone in the family and he knew it. When Sam fell apart, he was the one to hold everything together.

Now Dean didn't know what to do if everything in his own life threatened to fall apart. So he steeled himself as he always did, even though he didn't feel it.

The two of them quietly visited each corner of the room with the sage and let the smoke cleanse the atmosphere. Dean didn't know why or how it worked but he'd seen enough lore on the cleansing properties of that particular herb to know Rhiannon knew what she was talking about there. Charlie winked at him in passing. She seemed rather confident despite the horrible things she'd been through since knowing the Winchesters. Maybe she would be the one to carry him through.

"Everything's ready," announced Rhiannon as she swept into the room trailed by her black robe. "Are we ready here?"

"Um, okay, I'll get the top half, I guess," Sam decided, glancing Dean's way.

Together, the brothers took secure hands on Castiel's limp body. As Sam tightened his arms around Castiel's chest from behind, Dean lifted him by his legs. Hauling a full grown man wasn't easy but the weight of unconsciousness made him feel like he gained another hundred pounds.

Charlie hovered protectively nearby and Rhiannon led them the short distance down the hall. "Why do you look so squeamish, Sam?"

"Trying not to think about carrying my brother's naked boyfriend to the bathtub," he mumbled.

"It's no cake walk for me either," Dean commented. "Quit your belly aching. At least I put a towel on him. Just don't drop him, Sammy."

"I got it."

Static in the air hit Dean as soon as he crossed the threshold into the dark bathroom. Just before they reclined Castiel in the half-full bathtub, Rhiannon ripped away the towel over his waist. She wanted as little foreign elements in the tub as possible but the sudden exposure made Sam recoil and jerk his head away from the sight. Oddly, Dean wasn't insulted by his reaction as they let the former angel sink into the hot water. His brother had respect for the sanctity of their relationship. Some things shouldn't be seen by other people. Life never asked Dean and Castiel about the sanctity of their relationship, though, and everything had to be done to save him.

"I've got it from here. Everybody out." Rhiannon shooed the three of them back from the tub toward the hallway.

"Wait, what exactly are you doing?" asked Dean.

"You can watch. Just don't come into the room. When it's done, I'll know by the candles. You have to stay back because you'll get hurt." Her eyes narrowed suspiciously and her fingertips tapped his chest. "Don't go rogue on me, Dean. This is my job and I'm the one calling the shots here. You got me?"

Dean nodded. It looked reluctant and stuttering but he nodded nonetheless. "Whatever it takes for Cas." Giving up control wasn't his strongest virtue though.

The two Winchester brothers huddled close around the bathroom door with Charlie squeezed in between them. As Rhiannon took her wooden chest containing little glass jars of herbs and oils, she knelt by the bathtub. From the back, she resembled a ghoulish black mass in the room's dim light. Castiel's skin turned pale from spending so much time indoors and it reminded Dean of an old painting he saw on a school field trip along the way somewhere. A man dead in his bath became a martyr to the people who loved him. Dean's eyes fell to the tiled floor, reminding himself not to let his mind go to such a bad place.

A song rose low and gentle from Rhiannon's throat. She sprinkled different measurements of herbs into the bath water and, the more she added, the stronger a bizarre glow emanated from the tub. Her song rolled in foreign syllables - a language unrecognizable to Dean - and it sounded a bit like a chant.

"What's this for?" whispered Sam.

Dean shrugged. Part of him didn't want to know the details. They always came with extra burdens.

"Creating the infusion," Charlie whispered back. "Cas himself is an ingredient. He has to be in the mixture while she's making it." Her eyes shined as she watched the proceedings with intense interest. "Isn't it awesome all the stuff she knows?"

Both Sam and Dean's heads spun toward Charlie between them but she hardly noticed a thing. They exchanged silent glances with each other over her head. Sam's forehead lifted and his lips pouted out with a light shrug, conveying a suggestion that they both suddenly realized. Charlie liked Rhiannon. A lot. And Dean wished he could be happy and encourage her, but for the moment, everything in his mind needed Castiel to come back to his place in the family.

Amber light tinged with orange and gold burst toward the ceiling in such abrupt, hot columns from each candle scattered through the bathroom that Dean and Sam instantly shielded Charlie with their own bodies. Just as quickly as the fire columns exploded skyward, they retreated back to normal as if nothing mystical happened at all.

"Rhi?" Dean's voice called out, more panicked than he wanted. "Don't blow up my house!"

"It's okay. No damage done," she replied calmly as she spread Castiel's own terrycloth robe on the floor. "It's done. Put this on him and take him out to the altar."

It clearly didn't matter so much to Charlie that Castiel wasn't dressed as Dean and Sam hoisted him out of the tub. She wrangled him into his bathrobe like she'd been dressing dolls and infants her whole life. Poor Sam's eternal gratitude paled his face, knowing he wouldn't have to see nudity anymore.

Rhiannon grabbed an empty glass bottle and filled it from the herbal water in the tub. She corked it and shook up the contents. "This is the stuff. It's gonna bring him back."

All of them helped bring Castiel downstairs and through the back door leading to their little stretch of Casco Bay's coastline. It moved Dean the way each person took such care of his one-time angel, as if they all accepted him as a permanent piece of the family. He remained virtually silent as he had most of the night - a twisted knot of strange emotions, anxieties, and indistinguishable things. The air over what they were doing cut through him with a strange static electricity.

"Feet pointing east. Head pointing west," Rhiannon instructed as they stepped into an altar space bordered by a circular arrangement of rocks.

They did her bidding and laid Castiel's body the way she needed.

"Now what?" questioned Dean.

"Out of the circle now. Keep an eye out for the thing that did this to him. It could get ugly." She looked to Charlie. "You spread the salt down at the shoreline?"

"Yeah," she replied.

"Okay, good. Now out." Again, the witch shooed them away to a safe distance.

The threat of that succubus crossing the bay and disrupting the healing process kicked Dean into protectiveness. He went straight to the boat shed and grabbed his preferred sawed-off shotgun as well as a couple of other guns for Sam and Charlie. Without a word, he tossed the guns to each of them and they formed a protective barrier around Rhiannon's ritual circle.

She ignored them and set to work, walking a deliberate path around the interior border. Slow, methodical footsteps clockwise traced a circle while she held her palms flat toward the earth. The static sensation intensified as she passed behind Dean, making him glance over his shoulder almost expecting to see lightning or fire.

Rhiannon completed the circle at the northern edge and lifted her hands to the sky. A breeze caught her curly hair as she spoke in a strong voice, "Spirits of the north and earth, realm of the home, of abundance, prosperity, and healing, ruled by the gnomes of the woodlands, I call you to this circle to join me in bringing the life force of health, love, and vitality back to our beloved Castiel. Merry meet and welcome."

She positioned herself pointing west, standing over Castiel's head and continued, "Spirits of the west and water, realm of peace, love, and mysteries, ruled by the undines of the waters who dance upon the waves, I call you to this circle to join me in bringing the life force of health, love, and vitality back to our beloved Castiel. Merry meet and welcome."

To the south, she went on, "Spirits of the south and fire, realm of courage, passion, and lust, ruled by the salamanders of flame, I call you to this circle to join me in bringing the life force of health, love, and vitality back to our beloved Castiel. Merry meet and welcome."

And finally, to the east, she completed the opening of the circle. "Spirits of the east and air, realm of communication and intellect, ruled by the sylphs of air who dance upon the four winds, I call you to this circle to join me in bringing the life force of health, love, and vitality back to our beloved Castiel. Merry meet and welcome."

Dean glanced behind him again and watched Rhiannon kneel at a wide chest being used as a surface for her work that night. Striking a match illuminated her face and added a liquid texture to the wide curls tumbling around her shoulders.

"Blessed be the God, the father of all," she recited in a prayerful tone. "I ask that your strength of presence be at this circle now. I evoke you in all your glory, courage, and bounty, and ask your blessing on my work. No matter how pressing my physical or emotional needs, never let me forget that my objective is reaching your strong arms once again so that I may be what I am—a part of you. Blessed be and welcome, my Lord." Following the prayer, or what Dean guessed was some pagan prayer, she lit one of two candles.

The second candle focused in her eyes as she recited the second prayer before lighting it too. "Blessed be the Goddess, the mother of all. I ask your loving presence be at this circle now. I evoke you in all your glory, beauty, and ask your blessing on my work. No matter how pressing my physical or emotional needs, never let me forget that my objective is reaching your loving arms once again so that I may be what I am—a part of you. Blessed be and welcome, my Lady."

As skeptical as Dean was about anything pagan, he had to admit that the timing of a stiff breeze over the peninsula seemed odd. Trees swayed overhead. His eyes turned skyward, as did Sam's and Charlie's gazes, yet no one dared speak and break whatever spell Rhiannon created there.

Charlie and Sam kept a firm watch over the bay, which allowed Dean the freedom to keep an eye on Castiel. His peaceful features looked little more than a man taking a nap near the shore. This had to work. It just had to work.

"Dean, I need your blood," said Rhiannon as she pulled the bottle's cork.

"What?" Dean twisted at the waist, squinting at her.

"Three drops of the strongest life force I can find." She lifted to her feet and came at Dean with a needle to the finger.

"Ow, shit!"

"Really? Don't be a baby. Hush and bleed into the bottle." Pressing his finger to the rim of the bottle, she squeezed out three drops. Clear water mixed with herbs turned translucent deep red like rust.

"He has to drink this?" Dean asked quietly.

"All of it in three doses," Rhiannon affirmed.

The witch sank to her knees at Castiel's chest level and stood the bottle over his sternum. Her hands formed a ring around the middle of the bottle without actually touching the glass and a stream of lyrical chanting flowed from her lips. Faint light sparked from the middle of the infusion. Pure white grew and spread through the liquid mixture until it bled through the glass itself and seeped into the night around them. Her chanting intensified, louder, more pronounced, as her palms capped off the light near the cork and pushed it down into Castiel's chest.

Suddenly, her chanting stopped and she reverted to praying in English. "My Lady, mother of all, I beseech your nurturing heart to show this humble creature, Castiel, your eternal mercy. I ask in your infinite wisdom to help me with your guiding hand to restore his life force, always remembering your grace and my humility."

The light controlled in Rhiannon's hands burst outward like an exploding star and then sucked straight through the bottom of the bottle into Castiel's chest. She studied her hands as if she hadn't expected it.

"She heard us," Rhiannon announced triumphantly.

Charlie turned and smiled down at the witch. Of course not one bit of doubt ever creased her skin the way it did Dean so often that he aged before his time long ago. Sam offered a faint smile too, glancing around the sawed-off shotgun balanced on his shoulder.

"I can't close the circle until all of this bottle is in him but I need help. Dean? You gotta come in but leave the gun out there. You have to respect the sacred ground."

"Right, okay." Nodding, Dean passed his gun over to his brother.

He stepped over the rocky border into the circle Rhiannon cast. The static made his skin ripple with goosebumps. He had no idea how she did it or if she did anything at all beyond knowing the right words in the right order, but he'd seen Rhiannon control awesome forces since they were kids. If he really thought about her power too much, it would probably freak him out.

"Hold him up for me," she requested.

"Won't he choke if he's unconscious?"

Rhiannon shook her head. "The Goddess is with him."

"Oh, okay," he replied, not that it meant much to him without really understanding which goddess or what it all meant.

Still, Dean obeyed and lifted Castiel up by his shoulders and slid in behind him. The former angel reclined against Dean's chest. Satisfied that he wouldn't slide anywhere, Rhiannon cupped her hand beneath Castiel's chin in quite a maternal gesture and brought the bottle to his mouth. Dean watched like a hawk, worried that it'd make him choke, but as the liquid trickled into his mouth, his throat reflexively swallowed. He never rose to consciousness with the first third of the bottle but his throat muscles worked as if he was awake.

"There," Rhiannon cooed sweetly. "Told you the Goddess is with him. First infusion is in. Sam?"

"Yeah?"

"You got your phone?"

The younger Winchester dug through his jeans pockets and produced an iPhone with a blue rubber case.

"Set your alarm for 58 minutes. It's important to do this on time."

"On it," Sam said as his thumb swiped the phone.

Waiting, sitting there in limbo, suddenly felt like torture for Dean. He realized he faced at least another day of waiting, maybe two, before Castiel would begin coming to again. Holding onto that deeply slumbering man made Dean feel entirely too small and vulnerable. There was nothing he could do, a realization that hit him entirely too hard. Dean always knew what to do. He always had an idea up his sleeve at the last second to save the day. But that evil befalling Castiel rendered him completely powerless and he didn't like it.

"You can hold onto him through this process," murmured Rhiannon in a gentle tone. "He can feel you."

Dean's eyes flashed over her face. "Out of my head."

"Can't help it. You're thinking too loud," she replied.

As the hour crawled by at an infuriating pace, even Charlie became antsy. She slowly paced a wide track around the circle with her eyes never too far from the watery horizon. And yet, her eyes cut down to Rhiannon a bit too often as well.

"What is that?" Sam asked them all, exactly thirty-four minutes into the first infusion cycle.

"What's what?" Dean's spine prickled, suddenly alert.

Wide strides brought Charlie's long legs closer to the circle just as Rhiannon rose to her feet. They all stared across the bay where Sam pointed and a light out there seemed rather misplaced. It brightened and undulated as it accelerated closer. In moments, a terrifyingly familiar figure hovered over the water just as she had the night Charlie spotted her out there.

"Is that the succubus?" Rhiannon asked darkly.

"It's her," answered Charlie. Her shoulder rolled and she pointed the sawed-off shotgun.

Without hesitation, Sam leveled his gun too. "We can't get a clear shot at this distance."

"Don't shoot," ordered Dean. "If she gets closer, shoot, but don't piss her off 'til you're sure you can get the shot off without missing."

The succubus drifted closer but backed away again. Closer, further, closer, and further once more as if being rebuffed by some invisible barrier. She screeched in rage so loud that her ugly voice pierced the entire peninsula like the howl of a sharp hurricane wind.

"The hell's going on?" Sam demanded.

"I dunno." Angrily, Charlie stomped down to the shore with her shotgun as if she meant to take on the succubus herself.

"Keep her back no matter what!" Rhiannon boomed. "We can't stop until the whole bottle's in Cas!"


	23. Life Creeps In

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As the Winchesters work to save Castiel, it's Charlie who steps up and defends the entire family against the succubus that drained his life force. Playing the waiting game for the infusions to heal Castiel leaves both Charlie, Rhiannon, Wilhelmina, and Sam facing new crossroads. Life is creeping in for everyone in the ragtag Winchester family, ready or not.

Winds ripped and swirled across the peninsula into Casco Bay. Vigilant guardians of Sam and Charlie paced the shoreline with shotguns trained on the enraged succubus. But the wind, the awful wind, scraped at Dean’s face despite his back being turned to the full force of it. Invisible sparks burned his skin, making him cower over Castiel and try to shield him from it.

"It’s keeping away that thing out there!" shouted Rhiannon over the howl. "Hold on! We’re almost there!"

"Are you okay?" Dean yelled back.

Rhiannon uncorked the bottle with a quick glance at him, yet she squinted so hard that he knew the preternatural winds burned her face. Long spiral chunks of hair twisted around her throat and whipped backwards. She knelt on the ground in front of him and brought the bottle to Castiel’s mouth for the third and final time.

The deep, echoing rapport of a gunshot abruptly peeled the gusty night air. Dean’s body jerked into a fighting alertness that almost made him drop Castiel in the dirt. He threw an arm across his lover’s chest as if it would protect him from whatever took the gunshot. In the distance, Sam’s enormous silhouette roughly clicked the mechanism of the gun and a spent shell sprang to the ground. The succubus roared angrily, her mouth opening to a gaping, unnatural width, and she charged again. It seems Sam missed the shot.

"Rhi! Hurry!" Dean demanded of Rhiannon as she fed Castiel the last of the infusion.

Another shot rippled across the bay as Charlie’s gun exploded a salt round straight through the succubus’ chest. The demon spirit vaporized with a drifting scream melted into the wind keeping her back.

"I got it! It’s done!" Rhiannon screeched.

"Sammy!" hollered Dean as he scrambled to get a better grip on Castiel.

"Go!" the witch ordered. "Get him inside! I have to close the circle!"

The Winchester brothers scooped up Castiel’s  body and hauled him into the house within the confines of extra salt borders. Just as Dean hit the doorway, a third booming round blasted. He stole a quick glance over his shoulder and spotted Charlie taking on the succubus spirit alone like a lioness. Her feet planted squarely in the earth just outside of Rhiannon’s circle and her torso bent forward with the butt of the shotgun braced against her shoulder gave the petite, willowy redhead a menacing presence. She protected Rhiannon fearlessly as the witch thanked and praised the spirits of each cardinal direction.

As Dean slammed the door, he heard Rhiannon delivering the closing of the circle. "Blessed be the Lord of all. Thank you for the gift of your presence at this circle, for your protection, your blessings, and your assistance. Unto all realms I shout my thanks. Hail and farewell until we merry meet again. So mote it be. Blessed be the Lady of all. Thank you for the gift of your presence at this circle, for your protection, your loving mother’s care of my needs, and your assistance. Unto all realms I shout my thanks. Hail and farewell until we merry meet again. So mote it be."

*****

The depth of Sam's sleep passed into the lunchtime hours. He needed the catharsis and regeneration of his spirit and his strength worse than he expected. Only stirring in the kitchen roused him from that peaceful, black, dreamless rest. He rolled on his back and stretched over the width of his bed as he reluctantly climbed out of it.

Nobody was supposed to be in his apartment, he realized as sudden consciousness crashed over him. He grabbed his angel blade and silently crept down the narrow hall toward the noise. Around the corner, he spotted the familiar length of black hair tied in a sleek ponytail.

"Crap, Wilhelmina, you scared the hell out of me," Sam said, dropping the blade. "How'd you get back here?"

Wilhelmina smirked at Sam as she cut flower stems under the faucet. "My sister dropped us off during the night on her way to work. Logan was already asleep so I just crashed on the couch." She peered over the counter at her baby sitting on a blanket spread on the living room floor. The boy happily gnawed on a plastic car.

"Oh," replied Sam with a nod. "You coulda come kick me out of bed."

"Nah. You looked like you were in a coma. I didn't want to get in the way." As she spoke, she arranged the flowers in a vase that he didn't even know he owned. Maybe he didn't. "How's your brother-in-law? Any better?"

"We did the infusions last night. It was kinda hairy with the, uh, the thing trying to interfere, but everybody's safe for now," he said.

"The succubus," Wilhelmina filled in his badly disguised phrase.

He nodded. "Yeah. That."

"You can say it, Sam. I can't hide forever. I'm not a girl constantly needing a man to rescue and protect her. I refuse to be that kind of cliche." The strength in her voice astounded Sam after her sanity nearly snapped the last time they had any time alone. "In fact, I'm thinking Logan and I need to get our own place. I can't mooch off your charity much longer."

Sam stiffened, shaking his head. "I don't think you should be on your own yet. At least not until we figure out what to do about Logan's condition."

"We may never find a cure," she pointed out, "so I need to accept that my child's half demon and do the best I can to keep his humanity in control. You didn't ask to get mixed up in the mistakes I made. It's not cool of me to keep you involved. I'm not..." Wilhelmina covered her misty eyes as she carried her vase of flowers to his little round dining table. "...I'm not gonna hold you back because I fucked up my own life. It's time to get back on my feet. You need your own life. Go find a girl. Take her out and have some great sex. Whatever floats your boat, you know? You're a cool guy and you don't deserve to be saddled with all this."

It sounded to him like she tried to convince herself more than him. Surely he wanted her to get back on her feet, yes, but... "I already found a girl."

Wilhelmina stiffened then. They seemed to do that a lot around each other. Her hands froze in the obsessive arrangement of those damn flowers and those huge black eyes turned up to his face. And then the briefest moment of eye contact made her shy away, messing with the flowers again.

"I gotta hop in the shower," she said as if nothing happened. "You got a shift tonight?"

"Six 'til two," he replied quietly. "Look, Logan's not gonna spend his life with demon blood in him. I'm gonna find a way to undo it. And you're here because I care about you. Okay?"

A long moment passed with Wilhelmina absently stroking her fingertips over one of the flower petals. She absorbed it. "Okay," she whispered eventually. "But I'm not an annoying damsel in distress. I work hard. It's not your  _job_ to fix me."

"Of course not." Sam couldn't help but smirk a little.

He didn't exactly mean to tell her that his feelings ran deeper than helping a friend in need. It wasn't a full confession - just a hint of one - but she clearly caught his meaning. Whether she actually rejected him or not seemed a little fuzzy though. She didn't run from the room screaming but she didn't indicate if she might feel something as well, which left him in a weird in between place. He really couldn't expect her to leap into his arms after what she'd been through but maybe he'd be her first choice when she decided to try again.

Or maybe not.

Sam was starting to drive himself nuts.

*****

A day later, something was supposed to happen. Dean didn't quite know  _what_ but sitting by Castiel's bedside for more than twenty-four hours had him on edge. It was like staring down the barrel of a gun not knowing when the blast would occur.

His stomach contracted in uncomfortable spasms of hunger sometime in the afternoon, having not eaten anything since dinner the previous night. Reluctantly, he got up and, leaving the bedroom door wide open to hear any activity, he trotted downstairs. If he didn't eat, he'd get sleepy and miss whatever was supposed to happen on that second day after the infusions.

"You have natural power. You'd make a fabulous apprentice."

"Really? What's that?"

"Beginning the path to becoming a witch."

Dean found Charlie and Rhiannon together on the couch engrossed in conversation. They completely ignored the black and white musical playing on television that, he reflected with a pang of longing, Castiel would have loved to watch. He wondered if his old witch friend knew the extent of Charlie's growing hero worship.

"Hey," Rhiannon greeted, looking at him over the back of the couch. "Anything yet?"

He shook his head. "I'm just making a sandwich real quick."

"I can fix you something," offered Charlie.

"No, it's cool. Continue your witchy chat," he teased as he dug through the refrigerator. "Anyone hear from Sammy?"

"Yeah, he worked last night so he's sleeping today. I'm supposed to call him up here when Cas comes around." Rhiannon pushed herself off the couch by her ample hips and headed to the stairs. "I'm gonna check on him. Take your time with that sandwich."

"Thanks," he replied.

Sliced turkey, ham, two kinds of cheese, but none of that pesky lettuce. Maybe a tomato. Dean nearly devoured his sandwich before he even put it together. He squirted mayonnaise on one piece of bread and squirted mustard on the other. As an afterthought, he dove back into the refrigerator for the jar of pickles. His eye caught Charlie's profile in the other room on the couch, watching the way she nearly smiled to herself in a dreamy sort of expression.

"So you're gonna be a witch, huh?" he probed conversationally.

"What? Oh, I dunno. She kinda suggested it just now. I haven't really thought about it." Charlie shrugged at him with a lopsided smile. "Maybe. Maybe not. It's pretty awesome the way she controls stuff. She's, like, really confident. Not afraid of anything."

Dean knew what she meant in the way her voice turned softer as her words reflected fear. "Well, it's okay to be freaked out by these demons after what they did to you."

"And you," she added quietly.

"I guess." Dean shrugged too and brought his sandwich with a drink to the couch. He let out a lengthy, deep breath. "I kinda freeze up now when I see a succubus. I mean, don't get me wrong, I'm still gonna ice their asses, but..." There he sat, telling Charlie something he hadn't even told Castiel or his brother.

"...But you remember feeling violated, angry, maybe a little embarrassed, helpless, and every instinct in your body's telling you those things are gonna do it again."

"Because they will if they get a chance," he added.

"Yeah."

"Yeah." Dean shoved his sandwich in his mouth so he wouldn't have to talk about it, but the confessional diarrhea just kept going even as he chewed. "Sammy tried to tell me it was the same as what happened to you but I blew him off. I dunno. I guess I wasn't feeling it yet. I'm a dude, you know, so this isn't supposed to happen to me. I'm not supposed to have nightmares about a demon chick raping me when she didn't really get that far. She sure as hell tried though. It was ... it was bad."

"It's not supposed to happen to anyone, dudes or chicks," Charlie pointed out. She reached up in sisterly affection and swiped her thumb over the splotch of mustard near his mouth. "We're lucky. We know how to fight back even though it feels like the trauma's carving us open from the inside out."

"You're tougher than you look," he said after a moment.

"And you're softer than you look," she replied. "You're just a teddy bear under all that militant training, you know. Don't worry. Cas and I won't tell anyone."

He smirked between bites. "So you like Rhi, huh?"

A deep shade of red suddenly bloomed over Charlie's pale features and she sat more upright. "Like her?"

"Yep, you do," he chuckled. "You'd lay the moves on her in two seconds if you just thought she was hot. I've seen how you work. Impressive stuff, my friend." With a wink, he couldn't resist teasing her. "But you're  _not_ making moves, which means you must  _really_ carry a torch for her."

"I do not!" she squealed, horrified at being discovered.

Dean tossed his head back and laughed from his belly.

"I don't even know if..."

"What? If she's a clam diver?"

"Oh, Christ. Really, Dean?" The blush filling her face intensified.

It was too easy and he actually enjoyed himself for a few minutes there with her. "She goes every which way possible. Dudes, chicks, whatever. You're in. Now go forth and seal the deal, young grasshoppa."

Footsteps hurried across the floor over their heads. Dean started to stand just as Rhiannon yelled down the stairwell for them to come up. He ditched his sandwich on the coffee table, thinking maybe something went wrong with the infusions. Charlie followed in wide, rushed strides, trying to keep up with him.

"What's up?" he said, meeting Rhiannon in the hall.

"Sleeping Beauty," she replied through a little smile.

Dean bolted past her, bursting into the bedroom, and expected to find Castiel sitting up or maybe even puttering around the room complaining about the mess. He was neither upright nor picking up Dean's dirty socks, but he had rolled on his side facing the window. His arm shoved under the pillow and his knees bent under the blankets. Blue eyes seemed much more intense because, Dean guessed, he hadn't seen them in a few days. He rounded the corner of the bed and approached slowly, not knowing what to expect.

"Cas?"

Scruffy beard, wild hair, and drowsy blue eyes lifted off the pillow. He rose up on his elbow and offered a faint smile beneath the dark, unattended scruff.

"Hello, Dean."

Behind him, Rhiannon silently closed the door and left them in privacy.

Relief exploded through every nerve ending in Dean's body. "Hi," he answered in a small voice, feeling moisture burn the rims of his eyes.

Castiel's shaky arms tried to help him sit upright but he'd clearly lost some weight and strength being bed-bound for nearly a week. He rubbed his eyes. Fog still engulfed his mind, it seemed, but he already seemed so much better than before they gave him the infusions. The window attracted his attention again but he seemed confused that sunlight no longer caused him unbearable pain.

"Don't try to sit up yet," urged Dean as he sat on the bed.

But Castiel stubbornly remained upright, though he swayed a bit. He tightly grabbed Dean around his shoulders and his waist. A childlike quality took hold in him as if waking from a nightmare and needing the comfort and protection of someone stronger. His face burrowed against the curve of Dean's neck. Slowly, gradually, Dean began allowing himself to believe that they made it through the worst of it. He too found that private warmth in the curve of Castiel's neck. Closing his eyes, he took time to remember that sensation.

"How do you feel?" Dean asked softly after a while.

"Tired," replied Castiel. "Better but tired. What did you do?"

Half of Dean's mouth pulled up in a cryptic smile. He pulled back enough to look Castiel in the eyes and touch his cheek with folded fingers. "I did what I had to do."

"The witch - was that her?" He gestured at the door.

"Yeah, that was Rhiannon."

Nodding, Castiel still held onto Dean's arm for support. "She's nice."

"Very nice. Very loyal to our family."

Silence descended as Castiel leaned over and rubbed his eyes once more. He navigated the fog slowly lifting from his mind and body all while keeping a tight grip on one of Dean's arm. Dean absently smoothed down some of his dark hair but it sprang up again. He touched the beard filling in beyond his goatee, the hollow of his collarbones, and felt content just to be there seeing him awake and filling with life.

"I'm so tired," Castiel whispered.

"It's okay. Rhi says the second day is better but you won't be yourself until the third day. It's probably gonna take longer. You lost some weight. Lay back and sleep it off. Things'll be better tomorrow." As he soothed Castiel, he helped him recline on his side again, thinking he was probably sick of being on his back.

"Will you cook for me tomorrow?" the drowsy voice murmured.

"Sure. Anything you want." Interest in food certainly bode well.

"Lobster. I saw it on The Cooking Channel before I got sick," Castiel explained. "People in this part of the country join together socially for something called a lobster bake. Everyone looked so happy..." He started drifting again.

"You got it. Whatever makes you happy," murmured Dean as he bent to kiss his temple and stroke his hair. "I'll look it up online. We'll do it."

"Dean?"

"Yeah?"

Castiel peered at him through sleepy, hooded eyes. "Why do I smell like the spice rack?"

There was a lot of explaining to do.


	24. Don't Forget The Corn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A rare moment of respite comes for the Winchester family in the wake of Castiel's recovery. He asks Dean for a lobster bake because he saw it on television, and before Dean knows it, much of their peninsula neighbors come too. It's a real party on the shore, which all of them need. Sam still struggles with his infatuation with Wilhelmina through her mixed signals, while Charlie and Rhiannon seem to increasingly dance around the line of friendship and beyond. Still, Dean worries about lingering damage in Castiel's immune system as well as the deal the angels offered him.

"I know, Dean. I’m stopping before I get to the house. Yeah, I’m on my way. Relax. It’s gonna be a great day." Sam couldn’t help laughing at his brother’s neurosis. He gripped the steering wheel in one hand and his iPhone in the other. "How many? Okay. Yeah. Later."

He chuckled again, ending the call and shoving his phone back in his pocket. Wilhelmina smirked to herself in the passenger seat. Skillful hands applied mascara despite the bumpy road. She hadn’t cared about her appearance since escaping the incubus, so Sam took it as a little hint of hope in her recovery that she put on makeup for the lobster bake. She even put on a light summer dress that morning and had Logan wear a little polo shirt and khaki shorts. They looked respectable, the three of them together.

"I take it Cas is feeling okay today if your brother’s fussing about food," she surmised as she dipped the mascara wand in the bottle.

"Yeah, it took a few days but Cas seems to be back on his feet. Dean says he still gets tired pretty fast though. He's supposed to see the doctor next week about whether that succubus really messed up his immune system. At least he still wants to work." Personally Sam thought that was the best thing for him. Sitting at home ruined any man. "I think he'll take to those little kids. Who knows, it might be his calling."

"I could see that." Wilhelmina traded the mascara for powder. "You sure they’re okay with me coming along with Logan?"

Sam nodded. “It’s fine. There’s gonna be a lot of people there today.” He chose not to tell her that Dean was well aware of Sam’s infatuation with her. Honestly, he did his best not to let her see it either. “Oh and remember you gotta call us by our other names. No talk about hunting or demons or anything else either. As far as everybody knows, Cas - I mean Nick - _does_ have an immunity disorder and we’re celebrating him getting over another bad sickness. Not a complete lie but try to remember the details.”

"No problem, _Paul_." She flashed a smile at him. "And if anybody asks, I finally dumped my shitty boyfriend. The devil’s in the details, right?"

"Awesome. And remember Mike and Nick are married. Sometimes you say boyfriends."

"So they’re not really married but they’re together," she said.

"Right."

Wilhelmina’s face twisted. “Why don’t they just get married then?”

Laughingly, Sam flipped up his hand in an exaggerated shrug. “You got me. The fact that my brother committed at all is the eighth wonder.”

*****

"Rhi, can you get the door?" Dean shouted as he bounded upstairs. "And watch the fire!"

"Yes, master!" her voice shouted back from the bowels of the kitchen.

It took Castiel longer to get dressed than before but he insisted on taking care of himself, especially that day. Dean let himself into the bedroom and found him seated on the edge of the bed negotiating the buttons of his white shirt. Hopeful blue eyes turned up to his, crinkling with a smile.

"Some of the neighbors are out back already. Jenna just got here," said Dean as he crouched at Castiel’s feet and took the buttons himself. "Lemme do that."

"I’m okay, Dean," he chuckled.

"I know." But still, he finished buttoning Castiel’s shirt, leaving a few undone near the collar, and then rolled both sleeves to his elbows. "You wear this for me? Think I told you once that I dig this white shirt and jeans thing."

Castiel didn’t say a thing but merely smiled. He’d been quieter since Rhiannon restored him, not that Dean pressed him on the reason. Difficult days awaited them on the horizon but neither wanted to bring it all to light. The angels knew where they were and they had offered Castiel some kind of deal. What deal, he hadn’t said yet and Dean hadn’t asked. They’d been living in a calm bubble of domesticity for several days. Dean just wanted one more day at the shore having a lobster bake the way Castiel wished with their friends and neighbors before the next storm rolled in.

"You’re sure—"

"—Dean!" He tightly clasped Dean’s hand, making his point, and smiled, rather amused as he kissed his knuckles. "I'm quite well. I simply need a little time getting my strength back."

At least his stubbornness remained fully in tact. They made their way downstairs with Dean's protective arm around him. The long distance from the bedroom out to the shore still proved an arduous task but he masked his struggle quite well. No matter. Dean secretly liked feeling so needed but not for the reasons that brought them there.

"Hey, Cas!" Rhiannon greeted happily from the kitchen doorway. She wiped her hands on a towel.

"Hello, Rhiannon," he replied politely.

"Weird. I keep forgetting you don’t really know each other yet," commented Dean.

"It’s all right," Rhiannon replied. "We’ve still got a couple of days left to get to know each other before I go home. And I’ll be back for Christmas. Don’t forget Charlie invited me." A flash of a smile creased her lips. "Cas, your friend Jenna’s back there. She’s just itching to see you. Says you being sick and disappearing gave her a big scare. She’s sure attached to you."

Castiel nodded. “Yes, her husband is serving the military in Afghanistan. She doesn’t really have anyone else.”

"Oh, that explains it. Well, good sir, your public awaits." She dramatically gestured for the open doorway leading to the deck.

Late summer sunlight burst across the shore and Castiel squinted as if he hadn’t seen the day in months. Dean came prepared with a pair of sunglasses from his back jeans pocket, remembering how light made Castiel recoil in pain during his few lucid moments. The one-time angel's mouth turned up at the corners with his subtle sort of affection and slipped the sunglasses over his eyes. He looked so weirdly human. Almost too human, as foreign as that seemed to Dean. Sometimes he still thought of him as his angel.

"Oh my gosh! Nick!" squealed Jenna, leaving Charlie in mid-conversation near Dean’s fire pit. "You look so good, you know, all things considered. How are you? Are you okay? Hi, Mike!"

"Hi." Dean smiled, finding her enthusiasm funny. "Okay, I gotta work on the food or nobody’s gonna eat today."

“Oh, I’ll help you out, Nick." Jenna stepped in and looped her arm through Castiel’s elbow. "What do you wanna drink?"

"Something fun," replied Castiel with a cheeky grin.

"Something fun, okay." Jenna giggled. "I’m sure everybody wants to say hi too. Tell me about this trouble with your immune system. Will I need to make special arrangements in our classroom? It’s no problem, you know.”

Dean suddenly felt rather unnecessary as Jenna and Castiel absorbed into conversation with each other. Everybody needed friendship outside of families but it seemed peculiar looking at it from the angle of a Winchester. He kissed Castiel’s cheek and left him with his apparent best friend. Jenna relished in taking care of him, which, despite Dean’s need to show a hard exterior, softened him from within.

Along a flat plane of the shoreline, Dean tended to the fire pit he’d built early that morning, alone with the sunrise. Four feet wide and two feet deep, the pit contained two layers of rocks and burning driftwood in the center. Rockweed seaweed sat in trash cans nearby ready to insulate heat beneath and on top of lobster, steamers, corn on the cob (if Sam ever friggin got there), red potatoes and onions. Castiel certainly presented a challenge with his wish but Dean enjoyed it.

"Brought you a beer," said Charlie, presenting the bottle.

"Thanks. Watch the pit there." He took the bottle and pulled her to the side before she slipped into the fire. The cold bite of the beer tumbling down his throat felt familiar and delicious.

"Paul just pulled up out front." The news came with a long swallow from her own bottle. "That woman's with him. Her baby too."

Dean nodded and swallowed more beer. “You okay with the kid?”

"Not really but he didn’t choose to be what he is so I try to remember that whenever they’re over here." Through her light brown lashes, Charlie looked up at him with that cryptic response, clearly not knowing who might have listened. "It’s cool, Mike. Don’t worry. I’m not gonna get all shell-shocked on you."

One less thing for Dean to worry about lifted from his shoulders and he allowed himself to enjoy the day more. People from up and down their little peninsula congregated along their stretch of shore. It seemed whenever someone in Maine held a lobster bake, every neighbor came for a taste. And more than that, whether people actually knew each other or not, they almost always became friends on the spot.

Several families introduced themselves to Dean and welcomed him to the area as he manned the fire pit. Of course, they had been living there for a while but Dean used Castiel’s illness as an excuse for why they hadn’t been very sociable.

Through the forced socializing, he kept an eye on Castiel wherever conversation took him among their guests. Having Sam there made the party a great deal more comfortable for Dean too. They laughed and teased each other as they lined up lobsters in the pit along with the other food. Maybe in some other universe, that was how it might have been if they were allowed to grow up in a normal life.

Beer flowed and people laughed together as the sun went down on Casco Bay. Rhiannon and Charlie enthusiastically persuaded people into dancing when they pointed stereo speakers out from the living room windows. And every time Dean visited Castiel or cast a protective eye over him, he found his angel laughing and smiling again. If nothing else, that made everything worth it. He could put himself through any kind of social awkwardness, uncertainty among _normal_ people, and pretending to care about so many mundane things as long as Castiel was happy just like that.

What happened to Castiel had been Dean’s fault, after all. He intended to spend the rest of his life making up for it.

*****

"Oh my God, this is amazing," Wilhelmina groaned in bliss through a mouthful of lobster. "Mike! Seriously, I can’t believe half the state isn’t obsessed with your cooking."

Sam smiled to himself, looking further up the shore where Dean sat with Castiel and Jenna in the gravelly sand. The older brother waved back to Wilhelmina and gnawed across his corn on the cob. Beside him, Castiel’s meticulous hands dismantled his lobster and ate it slowly as if he wanted to commit every nuance of the flavor to memory. It wasn’t pizza and it wasn’t cheeseburgers but he clearly loved it.

Tiki torches up and down the shore illuminated more than a dozen people scattered around the shore. Plates in their laps or gathered in clumps on blankets made Dean’s place look like an old county fair. Happy chatting voices carried through the thinning evening air.

"Having a good time?" Sam asked Wilhelmina.

"Yeah." Again, she flashed a small smile at a private angle.

Sam smiled in return but her affectionate gaze confused him. She had all but rejected him a few days before, yet she sat eating beside him with her son playing on a blanket nearby. Of course he wasn’t old enough to eat shellfish yet. She had given him jarred baby food earlier in the evening and, if Sam knew his schedule at all, he would probably pass out on the couch soon until it was time to go home.

"I like your family," she said quietly, though she kept her eyes fixed on her plate.

"Thanks," he replied, realizing nobody had ever said something like that before. Impulsively, he added, "It’s just been my brother and me for so long. We never hung around any one place long enough to get to know people. Now they have each other—" he nodded toward Dean and Castiel "—and that’s how it should be."

"But what about you?" she asked as she cracked a shell.

Sam shrugged and swallowed down a quarter of his beer in one gulp. “I’m probably never gonna be okay. Somebody’s gotta carry the load and watch over everybody.”

"Hmm." Wilhelmina’s mind worked through something, it seemed, but she didn’t elaborate. Abruptly, she changed the subject. "Is that woman over there really a witch?"

"Yep." He nodded with a quick glance around to make sure nobody heard the slip of her tongue. "Trust me, she’s cool. She’s not dark side or anything. Some people are just … born into … what she is. We’ve known her for a long time. Mike even almost dated her once."

"Why didn’t he?"

Sam shrugged. “I guess some people like each other but timing just never works out. And anyway, I think Charlie’s into her now.”

Wilhelmina looked over at the ladies sitting cross-legged on the boat dock. “The redhead, right? She was nice enough. I don’t think she likes me but I guess she could be shy.”

"Yeah." That was a huge can of worms. He let it pass.

Chuckling bubbled up from Wilhelmina’s chest. “Oh yeah, look at her. She’s doing the smiley teeth thing and the hair flippy thing. The redhead’s definitely into that one there. You go, honey.”

Laughing, Sam leaned back and nearly dropped his fork.

*****

Dean’s elbow dug into his thigh with his fist braced under his jaw, simply watching Castiel eat. He wondered if the sense of nearly losing him would fade into security. Everything Castiel did - even trying out his first lobster - was worthy of attention now.

"What are you looking at?" Melted butter glistened on Castiel's fingers and he popped each of them in his mouth. "Have I cracked my shells the wrong way?"

"No." He didn't realize he stared that obvious but even Jenna seemed curious about it. "I was just thinking. I dunno. Don't pay any attention to me. I've been up since dawn, so I'm starting to wear out." Jesus. Get your shit together, Winchester. Quit staring like a high school girl.

"It's a great party. Everybody's having fun. Trust me, Mainers don't hang around long if they don't like something," Jenna said.

"Mh-hmm," Castiel agreed, chewing a mouthful of potatoes. "I feel like I could eat for weeks."

Dean rubbed his thigh. "You gotta get your weight back up."

"Working around little kids every day will make him pork out like I do every year, especially around the holidays. They're little junk machines and somebody's always bringing birthday cupcakes to school." Jenna expertly cracked the claw she'd been saving for last. Clearly she was a native Mainer. "I'm thinking we're gonna use your immunity disorder to teach the kids about cleanliness, Nick. We don't have to tell them you're sick per se, but keeping you healthy means we'll have to make a game out of hand washing and cleaning up the classroom."

"Yeah," Dean agreed, "kids are full of germs."

"If we can get him through flu season, he should be okay," she replied.

"I don't want to be a burden," interjected Castiel with downturned, concerned eyes. "I'm determined to do my job."

"And you will," Jenna agreed. "People work with all kinds of challenges."

Dean's thumb absently rubbed Castiel's thigh, his hand still resting there. Blue eyes turned his way with a thin smile of contentment in spite of his clear worries over keeping his job. It occurred to Dean just how much Castiel wanted that normal, domestic life, and that it wasn't just an act to hide from Heaven's wrath. He hardly ever spoke of going home to Heaven anymore either. Home shifted in his new human mind to wherever they made their life together.

The impulse to kiss Castiel seized Dean and he leaned over without thinking it through. He tasted of butter and sweet lobster meat.

"D-Mike," Castiel murmured, so distracted that he nearly used Dean's real name. He smiled against Dean's lips and whispered an undeniable fact. "You're kissing me in front of people."

So he was. "Oh." Self-consciousness crept over him as he craned his head around looking for any prying eyes.

"See? No pitchforks. No torches. No mobs," Castiel whispered.

"Oh, you're not a PDA kind of guy?" asked Jenna innocently.

Dean shook his head but it didn't feel as weird as he expected, maybe because everybody there already knew they were married. Together. Whatever. "I-I haven't always been..." Trying to explain it came off much harder than just  _being_. "I was always with women. Before."

She nodded knowingly and offered an indulgent smile. "Ah, I get it." A light shrug and a wistful shadow fell over her features. Her observances combed the shore. "Well, if it makes you feel any better, you guys together make me miss my husband a lot. It doesn't even register in my mind that you couldn't even legally get married a few years ago. You just love each other." She shrugged again, probably trying to pass off her opinion as nothing serious, but Dean knew body language entirely too well. Missing her husband pulled her closer to unions that reminded her of what she had. "No pitchforks or torches here."


	25. Terms of a Pardon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rhiannon's departure for home sends Charlie into a depression, while Sam and Wilhelmina try to resume somewhat of a normal routine. Normality may be a thing of the past for Castiel, however, as he receives a diagnosis from a doctor. The succubus damaged him in a way that has no cure. Despite the diagnosis, Dean knows he has to get the truth out of him about the deal the angels offered. It leads to a proposal that shocks both of them.

"That's the last of it," Rhiannon said as she slammed the trunk of Dean's car. "So I guess this is it for a few months, huh?"

"Bring it in," said Sam with his arms outstretched on the lawn. They embraced tightly. "You better call a lot more. No more years without talking, understand? Adopted Winchesters are tight."

"Don't worry. I'll call and I'll be back for Christmas," she assured. With a smile, she moved on to Castiel, who smiled sincerely at her. "And you'll be a bona fide preschool teacher when I see you again, right? You're gonna be great at it." She stood on her tiptoes and kissed his cheek, though he grabbed her up in a real hug.

"Well, a preschool teacher's assistant, but yes." Castiel's tone lowered but Dean still heard him say in her ear, "Thank you for saving my life."

Rhiannon's eyes misted over, pulling away from his hug, and Dean realized she probably never got thanked for her work. Hunters never got thanked either, not that Dean ever gave it much thought. She patted Castiel's cheek and stepped up on the porch with Dean, which came with an immediate hug of his own. Goodbyes were never his thing. He hated the exposed emotion most people showed.

"You better not take this guy for granted," she cautioned in a private tone. "Both of you fit so well."

"Don't screw up, you mean," he chuckled.

She smirked. "Exactly."

Standing in the crook of the open driver's side door, Charlie called out, "We gotta get on the road before interstate traffic goes nuts!"

Of course Dean knew she was eager to have Rhiannon all to herself for the drive back to Massachusetts. "You better go," he urged with a faint smile. Part of him was dying to know if Rhiannon knew Charlie had a thing for her. Another part of him wanted to give Charlie a pep talk about seizing the moment and all that, but he figured they would find their way. "Be careful with my car!" he shouted to Charlie instead.

*****

Common variable immunodeficiency. Two days after Rhiannon went home, the doctor delivered the news.

Dean barely guessed at how to spell that mouthful let alone wrap his mind around the diagnosis. It sounded awfully generalized to him, like they didn't really know what it was so they strung a bunch of words together that sounded official. The succubus damaged Castiel right down to his cells, robbing him of his natural ability to fight off infection. One hand on the steering wheel and the other rubbing the tension headache around his temple, the urge to kill something rose.

"Are you okay?" Castiel asked. He looked so calm about it.

"Just trying to get my head around all this," replied Dean. "I don't understand why a succubus would suck out your antibodies or whatever the hell you're missing now."

"Asking why isn't going to prove fruitful, I'm afraid." In the passenger seat, Castiel thumbed through the paperwork the doctor gave him as a getting to know you sort of package on his condition. "My only concern is people thinking I have AIDS when I don't. I'm aware there's a stigma with that disease. Given some of my symptoms and our homosexual relationship, ignorant people might assume--"

"--I don't give a shit what other people think. I only care about your health," snapped Dean.

"But my job...."

Sighing, Dean understood and he nodded. "I guess we have to explain it to Jenna and your boss. If any parents find out you're sick, then the school can answer for you." He hated this already. "You're not contagious. You're not putting the kids in danger. If anything, those kids and their snotty noses, coughs, and germs are putting  _you_ in danger."

Castiel organized a stack of brochures. "I'm not giving up my job."

"And I'm not taking it away from you," Dean assured. "I'm gonna make sure you go to all your treatments and you eat right and take all your pills and stuff."

"I'm not an infant."

"No, but you're mine. Let me do this, Cas. I'll go nuts worrying if you get all stubborn on me now." Dean reached over to the pile of paperwork on Castiel's lap and plucked his hand out of it. He laced his fingers through his angel's and brought their knotted hands to his mouth for a kiss.

"I'm sorry, Dean," he offered quietly. "I just don't know how I feel about this yet. Being human was difficult enough to learn and now my body is damaged without a cure for it."

"I know," Dean said, squeezing his hand.

*****

Weekend crowds always kept Sam on his toes. Three Dollar Deweys was a tourist hot spot and they all wanted local beer and ale after milling around historic places all day. He never sat still even though he always kept an eye on Wilhelmina too. Their first shared shift since he killed her incubus seemed as smooth as he expected.

"Pauly! Pitcher of Stella! Three glasses!" she shouted over the crowd.

"Yep!" Sam shoved the phone on his shoulder, talking to Dean. "Hold on. Sorry. It's a zoo in here tonight."

"You gonna be able to research it?" Dean asked.

"What's it called again?"

It sounded like Dean rustled papers. "Common variable immunodeficiency. I guess it means his body's not producing the stuff he needs to fight viruses and infections."

"Antibodies," said Sam as he loaded up Wilhelmina's tray.

"Yeah, that. So can you do your brain thing?" He sounded so hopeful that Sam could find a miracle cure and that stung, not for himself but for his brother and Castiel.

Sam sighed and turned away from the bar noise. "I'll give it a shot but it doesn't sound like there's a cure for this thing. It just might be something C-I mean _Nick_  has to deal with as a human, you know? As long as it's not fatal, it can be managed."

"It's not fatal, no," replied Dean with a tired strain in his tone, "but if he catches something bad, it can kill him if his body won't fight it."

"Okay," Sam conceded. "I'll see what I can do. But you need to make him tell you what the deal was with the angels. They must've scared him if he hasn't brought it up yet. You gotta push it out of him."

"Yeah, I know." That time, Dean took his turn to sigh. "I'll try."

"Good. I gotta get back to work. I'll come by tomorrow," Sam said. "It's gonna be okay. We always figure out the loopholes with impossible stuff. He's gonna be fine one way or another, and so will Wilhelmina, and Logan, and Charlie, and all of us."

*****

Dean texted his brother the name of the condition just to be sure he got it, but he knew he was stalling too. A burst of laughter came from the dining room. He followed the sound, his hands casually stuffed in his pockets, and found Castiel playing Monopoly with Charlie at the table.

He leaned on the doorway and asked, "Who's winning?"

"I am," announced Castiel with a grin. He counted his colored money.

"Maybe you should get into real estate then," Dean joked.

Little bubbles of laughter flowed from Charlie's lips as she rolled the dice. "He's a shark. I'm losing the shirt off my back here."

Okay, so Dean chickened out. He slinked his way out of the game and stared blankly at website after website on his laptop in the living room. Something about Castiel's body being that weak despite not showing signs of it at the moment changed how Dean thought of him. The worst part was knowing how wrong that was, knowing Castiel wouldn't want to be treated any differently. Yet Dean struggled to teach himself to search through the new fragility to get information they needed.

Charlie eventually went to bed, and Dean decided he had to grow a pair and just pry it out of him. He snapped shut his laptop and left the couch, finding Castiel cleaning up the game in the dining room.

"What's up?" Dean ventured. Absently, he helped arrange the play money in their appointed trays.

"Me," replied Castiel, the subtle smirk hinting that he knew sarcasm.

Although Dean smiled, his underlying discomfort still bled into it.

"Ice cream in bed?"

Well, maybe that would make the conversation easier. "Sure."

"Okay. I'll bring it up to you," Castiel offered with a gesture that he should go on ahead.

Most of their intense conversations seemed to happen in bed, Dean reflected as he went upstairs and changed into baggy pajama pants. Maybe Castiel sensed what needed to be discussed. He went down the hall and brushed his teeth for the night, not that it mattered if he and Castiel were going to bed with ice cream. By the time he got back to the bedroom, he found his angel stripping out of his clothes, having never seen the necessity for pajamas.

"Locked the doors, locked the windows, and checked the salt lines," said Castiel before Dean could even ask.

They got into bed together and tugged the blankets to their waists. He got a bowl of peanut butter and chocolate ice cream, while Castiel nibbled on his preferred cookie dough flavor.

"Cas, I gotta ask you something," he said with the spoon in his mouth.

Trusting blue eyes looked expectantly at him from Castiel's side of the bed. He spooned ice cream into his mouth and rolled his tongue under the spoon.

"Thing is we can't keep ignoring what you said when you were sick. We gotta know what the angels told you." Dean waited for him to turn green or run or pass out or something. He didn't quite understand why the whole thing freaked him out so much, aside from the news they'd gotten at the hospital.

"I don't..." Castiel started to speak but his voice trailed off and he shook his head at himself. "You're going to charge off on another crusade."

"You gotta tell me, whatever it is," pressed Dean between bites. "The whole reason why we're in hiding is because those dicks are after you. They want your head on a stick. If they offered you some kind of deal like you said before you went to sleep again, we gotta consider it. Maybe it means going back to our lives."

Shit. As soon as the words tumbled out of his mouth, he cringed.

"Are you unhappy here, Dean?"

"No, Cas. I meant—"

"—You still don’t understand what we have, do you?" Castiel said right over him. "This is why I don’t want to talk about it. I don’t want to go back. I’m happy here. I’m happy with you and the life we’re building together. Killing isn't something I want to do anymore. I never did. Aren’t you happy with me?"

"Cas, Cas, Cas. Stop. Take a breath." Dean set aside the bowl of ice cream and grabbed Castiel’s hands so he couldn’t turn away. "I didn’t say I wanted to leave. I just meant that if we consider whatever deal they’re offering, then we don’t have to hide anymore. We can be ourselves. Sammy, he doesn’t need to feel so responsible for us either. We take that deal and he’ll be free to decide what he wants."

"And you’d let him go if he wanted to go back to Kansas," said Castiel, deeply skeptical.

Dean hesitated but agreed. “Yeah.”

Losing himself in consideration, Castiel’s eyes turned away from Dean’s and he sighed tensely. “If the angels stop hunting me, what does that mean for us, Dean?”

"Nothing. The way I feel about you isn’t an act," replied Dean. "Okay, so we’re not really married, but we were together for a little while before all this happened. Remember? I’m not pretending any of that. You know I love you."

"Yes," murmured Castiel, dropping his gaze to the blanket over his lap. "I know that."

"Marry me," Dean blurted with sudden certainty.

"What?!" Castiel’s eyes grew wide and his forehead wrinkled simultaneously.

"I’m serious." Hands tightened around Castiel’s and tugged him to face each other more thoroughly. "Let’s just do it. After all this is over, let’s make it legal. I mean, we pretty much live that way right now anyway."

The confused tilt of Castiel’s face made him look like the angel he used to be. “Dean … I …”

"Look, Cas, I’m not going anywhere."

"Don’t marry me just to make me tell you the deal the angels offered." Though Castiel pressed a rather practical angle, a certain hopeful twinkle came into the blueness of his eyes. "Marry me because I’m the only one you could ever want in your life."

"You are the only one, Cas. When you were sick, I couldn’t be happy about anything. I sat here watching you sleep for days just waiting for the minute or two when you’d wake up." Dean waited and allowed that surprisingly emotional confession to sink into Castiel’s mind. "My life’s mostly shit but you make me happy. I’m not gonna give that up whether you tell me about this deal or not. We’re pretty much married as it is. It’s really me dragging my feet like an asshole that’s keeping us from doing it for real. I’m done dragging my feet about us, especially now."

"Now that I have this immunodeficiency," he guessed in a whisper.

Nodding, Dean said, “Partly. I don’t want us to have any regrets. I’d regret it if I never married you for real.”

Castiel fell silent, turning it over in his mind. Then, "No fake IDs."

"Okay," Dean agreed.

"I mean it. I’m marrying Dean Winchester, not Joe Perry or Luke Skywalker or Michael Soule. And when or if we go back to Kansas for any reason, or see other hunters, we’re not hiding what we are to each other. I’m going to be your husband no matter where we are or who we meet."

The use of the word husband made Dean’s breath stutter a bit, but not enough to make him change his mind. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to marry Castiel. He hesitated when it came to everyone else perceiving him as gay. But the choices became marrying the only person he ever really loved or walking away and preserving his reputation as a womanizer. They simply didn’t match up when weighed against each other.

"Okay," he agreed after a brief moment of hesitation.

Castiel’s brow arched. “Are you certain?”

"Hell yeah," Dean said and he meant it.

"Then give me two years in Maine," he amended his terms. "Just let me have a little time in a normal human life and time to get a grip on my condition. Then if you want to go back to the bunker, I’ll go with you, no questions asked."

"Works for me. Hell, maybe I won’t even want to go back after two years," suggested Dean with a little smirk.

"I doubt that." Castiel smiled faintly. “But I’m saying yes.”

"Yes?"

"Yes, I will marry you. Wait, wait. Don’t kiss me yet." Castiel’s hand on Dean’s bare chest kept him at bay. "I must answer your question first. The deal."

Falling into stillness and silence, Dean waited.

"They don’t exactly know I’m living in this house. Only that I’m in Maine. I did everything I could to hide ourselves with sigils all over the property."

"Yeah, I know." It came as a relief to Dean that they didn’t have their location pinpointed.

"The only way they could get to me was through my dreams the way I used to do with you," Castiel continued. "It seems they’re aware of what the demons are doing, breeding with humans to strengthen their numbers, but the angels are powerless to stop it without access to Heaven. And so, I've been told the angels will pardon me of my crimes if I kill the Queen of the Succubi. Killing the Queen will kill all of the succubi beneath her. The process then has to be repeated on the King of the Incubi."

Dean took the news with the numb detachment of a hunter. “Why you?”

"Because I’m expendable," he replied. "I’ll either die trying or I’ll succeed and be pardoned. Either way, at least one threat will be eliminated for the angels and they won’t have to get their hands dirty. That’s how their logic works. I'm perceived as a threat too."

Nodding, Dean worked through possible scenarios in his mind. "You know me. I’m always down for kicking some demon ass, but do you really think they’re going to pardon you?"

"Yes," Castiel affirmed most definitely. "The earthbound angels are dividing into factions and some of them side with me, it seems. I have enough influence now and from my war with Raphael that they know I could bring a great deal of trouble down on their heads if they renege on such an agreement."

"Did you agree to it?"

Castiel shook his head. “It’s not like signing a contract. I really don’t have a choice in this matter. Either I do what they want and I get pardoned, or they hunt me down until they kill me themselves. They’ll know what I’m doing when word spreads that I’m looking for the King and Queen. And it will. At least among the angels. There are no secrets when it comes to my species.”

Dean flopped back on his pillow and jammed an arm under his head, considering the situation. If they succeeded, then so many people would be saved from the horrifying violation that so many had already been through. A great many children would be saved from being born half-demon too.

The deal meant Castiel had to be the one to make the kill shot though. That in itself could prove difficult given his weakened condition. That was something to consider, Dean admitted to himself. Castiel, however, would never admit that kind of weakness to himself, which meant Dean would have to watch over all of it.

Castiel leaned on his elbow and hovered over Dean with fingertips feathering over his cheekbone. “What are you thinking?”

"I’m thinking it’s dangerous, but hell, our lives have always been dangerous. Both people and angels have something to gain from taking out the King and Queen too, so maybe it’s something worth trying." Dean’s hand grasped Castiel’s wrist and brought his hand over to his mouth for a kiss. "I'm thinking the sooner you gank these sons of bitches and get your pardon, the sooner we can get married."

"Will you help me?" Castiel wondered.

"You know it," replied Dean.

*****

Two pairs of bare feet padded down the hall to Charlie’s room early the next morning. They put on pajama pants and mismatched t-shirts, deciding they had to tell someone before they exploded. Sam would kill them for waking him so soon after his shift ended at the bar. Charlie seemed like the less dangerous choice.

Orangy-red hair sprouted from the pile of blankets as she slept soundly in a tightly wound ball. Dean moved first and Castiel followed, both crawling into bed with her. They laughed like little kids as they invaded her bed, but she groaned and shoved her head under her pillow.

"Charlie, Charlie, Charlie," chanted Dean in rapid rhythm that Castiel soon joined. He tugged her blanket and played with her hair.

"Oh my God, I’m trying to sleep! Go away!" she bellowed from under her pillow.

"Nope. You’re getting up." Sitting upright again, Dean wrestled the pillow away from her. "We’re going out for breakfast. Cas wants IHOP."

"Go without me," she muttered.

"Not a chance. You don’t get to be all depressed because Rhiannon’s not here anymore. You’re getting up, we’re going out, and we’re gonna celebrate." As he spoke, Dean tugged on her blankets to be just annoying enough that she wouldn’t go back to sleep.

"Come on, Charlie. You have to help us plan," pleaded Castiel in his sweetest tone.

"Plan what?" Reluctantly, Charlie sat up in bed and scooted back against the headboard. She rubbed her eyes and yawned with the boys flanking her.

A bright smile plumped Castiel’s cheeks and his eyes shined brighter than the blue morning sky. “We’re getting married. I mean, for real this time. Not right away, of course, but we’re getting married.” He seemed to like hearing that phrase enough to repeat it all morning.

"What?" Sleepy eyes evolved into shock in barely a single blink.

"I sort of asked. Last night," said Dean.

"Oh my God! Oh my God!" Charlie’s shrieking pierced both of their ears as she jumped straight up in bed, bouncing on her mattress with excitement. Pillows and blankets flew in every direction. "You’re getting married! Oh my God!"

Dean laughed from his gut. He stowed away that memory - something good and joyful before the hunt for the Queen of the Succubi and the King of the Incubi got underway.


	26. It's Her

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As Castiel begins regular IV treatments for his immunity disorder, Dean and Sam, along with Charlie, begin to plan exactly how they are going to kill the King of the Incubi and the Queen of the Succubi. If they fail, Heaven won't ever stop hunting Castiel and the demonic breeding program will continue unchallenged. Finding the King and Queen requires Dean to consider touching a very dark part of himself that he thought he left behind, however. Despite his family's reservations about his plan, they summon a succubus for interrogation. The succubus that arrives is someone they never expected to see again.

"Does it hurt going in? Morphine kinda burns a little," Sam said innocently as he opened his laptop on a hospital tray.

"Not so much, but the doctor said I might feel unwell for a few days after each treatment. Nausea, fevers, chills – that kind of thing," replied Castiel. He reclined against pillows, not willing to lie flat and appear sick in his hospital bed. He was only there for the duration of an IV treatment filling his veins with the plasma that carried the antibodies he needed.

The whole thing had Dean a bit unnerved. He guessed he'd eventually get used to it over time, but the memory of Castiel's indestructibility was still too fresh in his mind. This was not an indestructible angel anymore. He'd become an entirely too mortal, sick man. At least Sam and Charlie decided more than six hours of Castiel sitting in a hospital room taking treatment gave all of them an opportunity to discuss a plan of action. Dean resisted the invasion that morning, but now he was grateful for it. For his part, Dean remained quiet and simply sat beside Castiel, holding his hand. He unwrapped a ginger pop, something he heard might cut the nausea, and handed it to him.

"Suck on this," Dean said quietly.

Castiel obeyed but he tilted his head at the way, Dean slouched in his bedside chair. "I look better than you do."

"Hospitals have always skeeved Dean out," said Sam as he typed.

"People die every time I come to these damn places," Dean muttered.

An awful vinyl couch under the only window in the room contained Charlie and she sat so casually, crosslegged and flipping through the first of a rather tall pile of demonology books. "Nobody's dying here. Cas is here to get better. Just remember that."

"I found something a little weird," interjected Sam as his eyes carefully scanned the computer screen. "There were these monks in France a couple of hundred years ago who came across a pocket of incubi and they found out, accidentally, that these things don't like certain spices like cinnamon. They didn't know they had one among them until a visiting dignitary, I guess, had dinner in a monastery and they made this fancy dish with cinnamon in it. Turns out the guy listening to this. The cinnamon burned him from the inside out when he started eating the food."

"That sucks. Cinnamon toast is the greatest thing ever," said Charlie, wrinkling her nose.

Dean approached it a little more skeptically. "Yeah, but how do we know that's not some legend and not something real?"

"Well," Sam replied as he leaned back in his chair and stretched his arms over his head, "I guess the only way for us to find out is to try it. Find one of them and shove cinnamon down his or her gullet. It's not going to kill them. It just disables them for a little while. I mean, it's something. We may be able to use it."

That got Dean thinking more intently on something he had considered during the night. All the research in the world wouldn't mean anything if they didn't find a couple of specimens to interrogate and experiment on just to see what would work and what would not. That little nugget of information Sam found reinforced his gut instinct.

"We're gonna find one. We're gonna do this old-school. Summon and interrogate."

He felt Charlie freeze on the couch and stare at him with wide, fearful eyes. "You mean bring one to us?"

"You can't bring one into your house," Sam argued emphatically.

Dean shook his head. "No, we go somewhere else to do it. We lock down Charlie and Cas at home and you and I find some warehouse or something and get this thing done. The sooner we start interrogating, the sooner we find the Queen of the Succubi and the King of the Incubi. No book is going to tell us where they are. Only their underlings can do that. This is what we used to do, Sammy. We know how to do it."

"You mean you know how to do it. You're talking about torture," pointed out the younger brother in his most sober tone.

Silence answered him. After Castiel pulled Dean out of Hell, he swore he would never torture again but the few times he resorted to it amounted to life or death situations, which is how he felt about the situation. If he was perfectly honest with himself, touching the darkness again and remembering how good he was at peeling flesh, carving out organs, and making human souls or demonic entities bend to his will terrified him, but he didn't see any other way around it. Castiel lay in a hospital bed entirely too weak and sick to do the legwork himself and the entire planet needed the King and Queen to die. If they didn't do something now, more demonic offspring would be bred and a generation of evil would fall over the earth. Failing meant a second Apocalypse.

But Dean bottled everything inside and simply said, "Sammy, it's the only way."

Glancing at Castiel in his bed, Sam arched an eyebrow. "Cas?"

He turned the matter over in his mind and let out a heavy sigh. "I quit fighting Dean on these things long time ago. I don't necessarily like the idea but he's clearly made up his mind." He looked over at Dean and lightly shrugged. "I can't exactly forbid you to do this, can I? No one forbid you to do anything. Even when you were a child. But I think I should go with you and Sam."

"No." Emphatically, Dean shook his head and put his foot down. "You're not gonna be ready for this by tomorrow or even three or four days from now. We need to do this immediately. Stay with Charlie at the house and heal up so you can be there for the kill."

Charlie, who quietly leafed through various books, seemed perfectly okay with having nothing to do with summoning a demon. Especially the kind of demon that attacked her. "That's right – he has to be the one to make the kills, right? That's the deal? You better save your strength then, Cas. Let the boys to the legwork."

"Yes, that seems to be the deal. The angels didn't say anything about doing the hunting. They specifically said I had to kill us the King and Queen in order to be pardoned of my crimes – or the crimes they think I committed." He thought about it a little deeper as he absently adjusted his position in bed, careful not to pull on the IV tubing. "Angels are not ignorant. They certainly know I would enlist Sam and Dean to help hunt down these things. Perhaps they're even counting on it because, in spite of everything, they know exactly what the Winchesters are capable of. But it's true that I must be the one to kill."

"Damn right," Dean said with a sharp nod. "We're the best at this shit."

*****

Although Sam had his reservations about summoning a demon again for the purpose of, most likely, allowing Dean to torture information out of it, he did his job. He found the correct summoning ritual to attract a succubus. They decided to go for a succubus first because they'd already had experience with several of them. That night at home, while Castiel and Charlie watched movies on the couch so he could take it easy, Dean found an abandoned warehouse on Google maps that looked relatively easy to break into up in Cumberland County.

The relative calm in the house allowed Dean to slip into a false sense of security without even realizing it. Somewhere around 2:30 in the morning, trembling against his back shook him out of a dreamless sleep. He sat up in bed and found himself completely without blankets. Beside him, Castiel curled up into a ball beneath every blanket in the room, his back turned to Dean, and his face shiny with feverish sweat.

"Cas?" Leaning over, Dean pressed a palm to his brow.

"S-s-side effects of t-t-treatment," said Castiel through chattering teeth. "I'm okay. Just g-g-gotta ride it out."

"Shit," Dean spat as he got out of bed and flung open the bedroom door, headed for the bathroom.

Of course, Castiel would try to be brave and simply stay he had to ride it out, but Dean detested watching him go through it. He searched the medicine cabinet for some kind of fever reducer. He settled on ibuprofen, making a mental note to go to the store and find the best possible thing in the morning, and brought it many blankets as you want."

Castiel obeyed, swallowing down two ibuprofen. He burrowed even deeper into the blankets and cuddled his pillow like it might provide extra warmth. "It's only for a d-d-day or two," he said as if Dean needed more reassurance than him.

"I know," Dean replied with a sigh.

"I c-c-can't get warm. Please, Dean, hold onto m-m-me or something," the former angel requested with just the slightest break in his voice.

It was Dean's turn to obey. He managed to pry the blankets away from Castiel enough to crawl under them. It felt like a furnace under there but it certainly didn't feel that way to his patient. Dean scooted himself flush against Castiel's back, the curve of his rear, and he entwined their legs together. Arms wrapped around his abdomen and his chest until they both shared the same pillow, the same blankets, and the same heat. Feeling Castiel shake with feverish chills bother him but he was careful never to let it show. Within the hour, the ibuprofen allowed him to drift off to sleep again.

*****

If Castiel hadn't started feeling better by lunchtime the next day, Dean didn't feel good about going on to the warehouse. Perhaps the strongest person in their home was Charlie despite everything she had been through. She cornered Dean in the kitchen and explained to him why he had to go through with the plan – so many people were being attacked just like they were and he was the only one, along with Sam and Castiel, who could stop it. She swore she would take great care of Castiel while he was gone and pointed out that he already felt better compared to last night. Sickness after treatment simply had to be their new normal.

So, reluctantly, Dean kissed both of them goodbye and drove off with Sam up to Cumberland County. Breaking into the warehouse was as easy as breaking into any other warehouse no longer used in the country. Nobody cared about those places. Nobody bothered to lock them very well.

The rhythm of hunting took over both Winchester brothers again. It had been a while but those instincts never really went away in any hunter. Sam set to work immediately drawing the summoning circle on the floor and then, several yards away, climbing up on several empty crates to draw the devil's trap on the ceiling with spray paint that kept its color as close to the warehouse as possible. They were counting on camouflage and the element of surprise the trap the succubus for interrogation and, if necessary, encouragement to spill.

"Make sure it's all connected. No breaks," said Dean as he set up the summoning tools.

"I know, I know. This isn't my first time." Even though it was dark, he just knew Sam rolled his eyes at him.

As the ritual dictated, Dean dumped several herbs and goats blood into a bowl and struck a match, setting all of it on fire. Sam joined him in short order and the pair of them began reciting the Latin incantations designed to call out the specific breed of demon they sought. Every breed had its own summoning ritual but they had never tried that one before.

Toward the end of the Latin incantation, streetlights flickered outside, golden light blinking in the windows. Sam and Dean exchanged looks as they waited, expecting a burst of smoke, light, anything, but nothing happened. Only the damp sound of dripping water in the musty old warehouse came to their ears. Their eyes narrowed in the darkness, searching every doorway for signs of movement as the fire died out in the ritual bowl.

"What do you think?" Dean didn't like it. He held onto his angel blade.

With protruded lips and a shrug, Sam replied, "I don't know. Did we say the incantation right?"

"I think so," said Dean.

A female voice suddenly cut through the darkness behind them. "Oh dear. For such fearsome hunters, you certainly are dumber than dancing monkeys, aren't you?" The sharpness of her English accent made her sound even more condescending.

Blades drawn, both Dean and Sam spread out looking for the source of that voice. From within the shadowy shaft of an old elevator, a feminine figure appeared. As she stepped closer, her high heels clicking on the rotten old floorboards, streetlights outside illuminated the way her black dress squeezed her figure like a python squeezing prey. Clearly, every succubus knew which meat suits to take for their breeding work. She certainly looked like a woman on the prowl with her mousy brown hair lightly purling over her shoulders and down her back, with a thin smile that made her intentions quite obvious.

"You rang, boys?"

"What's your name?" Sam knew getting the name was the first and most important thing in dealing with any demon.

Her head tilted and her bottom lip stuck out in feigned sadness. "Aw, Sam Winchester, don't you remember me?"

He glanced at Dean through narrow, questioning eyes, completely clueless as to why any succubus would know him at all. Maybe she was the succubus that attacked Dean in the alley, but then again, she never encountered Sam so she wouldn't know him. No. Something spiraled out of control about the whole thing. Dean just knew it.

Aggressively, he stepped forward, letting her know that she had to deal with him and not his brother. "You tell us who you are right now and we won't skin you."

The succubus never flinched. Liquid copper spread over her eyes until none of the whites showed anymore and let him see her demonic nature. They seemed to do that when they wanted to intimidate people, but Dean couldn't be intimidated. Not anymore. The thin smile parted her pale pink glossy lips until she looked neither beautiful nor appetizing, but terrifying and disgusting to any rational human.

"What do you say, Dean? Wanna have that angry sex now?"

Freezing, recognition suddenly came over Dean. Her body was different but not that far off from the way she looked in life. She must have found a meat suit that felt like herself. How many years? Already, she turned into a demon, erasing her humanity. Dean's brain reeled and he stepped back.

"Bela Talbot," he whispered.

Her smile spread, though as a demon, it looked more like a grimacing sneer. "Hi, sweetheart."

"Son of a bitch," Sam mumbled, stunned.


	27. Interrogation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The quest to find the Queen of the Succubi and the King of the Incubi leads the Winchester brothers to summon a succubus for interrogation. The succubus who answers the summoning is Bela Talbot, someone they never expected to see again. But as it becomes apparent that every shred of her humanity has disappeared, Dean finds himself resorting to torture in the interrogation. Can he get what he needs out of her to help Castiel kill the King and Queen, and stop demons from breeding with people?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please forgive any weird errors. I'm still trying to train my speech recognition software.

"Oh Dean, just look at what's become of you," Bela mused, her demonic copper eyes shining in the shadowy warehouse. "I heard that summoning you did and I just had to come see you boys for myself." Her gaze shifted to Sam and a taunting, flirtatious smirk lifted her mouth. "Well, hello there, Sam. Have any good dreams lately?"

Dean's brow furrowed at his brother. "What's she talking about?"

"Nothing. Ancient history." Sam's posture took on a defensive stance, his face frozen in the most stern, intimidating expression he could formulate.

The succubus that was once Bela casually strolled a wide circle around the brothers, her heels clicking the concrete floor. "So why am I here, boys? Can't get a shag anywhere else? I can't imagine the ladies take a fancy to such self-loathing gents like yourselves." Her heels stopped in front of Dean again. "But then, I've heard rumors about you. Is it true? Have you given up women for one of those angels? My, my, my. No wonder we never had that sweaty, angry sex. Come on, Dean. Aren't angels just the dullest creatures? So good. So pure." Her nose wrinkled as if tasting something foul.

Disbelief couldn't even begin to touch what Dean struggled to comprehend in that moment. "What the hell happened to you?"

She smiled and tilted her head, always the master at flirtation. As she stepped closer, Dean backed away. "You mean how did I become a demon? You know that answer very well, Dean. Had you done your time had not been rescued by your blue-eyed boy toy, you would have become evolved like I am now. I did my time in the pit just like you, but torture wasn't my thing. Not the way it was for you. Oh yes, we all heard talk of the great Dean Winchester's skill." Darkly, she laughed. "Darling, there's no need to go so ashen. Be proud of your apprenticeship. It's the stuff of legend downstairs these days." Her smooth features and conversational tone suggested that she knew exactly how her words twisted Dean's gut with the kind of guilt that a man could never swallow it a thousand lifetimes. "My beautiful Queen found me toiling away in the pit and chose me – she handpicked me for this great work. You see, I've become one of her most praised and trusted servants. I've already given three brats from my meat suit's belly to the cause."

"And just who is your Queen?" Sam had no interest in the verbal tête-à-tête she used to try and keep the upper hand. He clearly needed to get down to business.

Bela's tongue clicked against the roof of her mouth and she shook her head disapprovingly. "I'm surprised at you, Sam. Do you honestly think I'd tell you pus bags who she is? Never."

Laughing quietly to himself, Dean shoved his hands into his jacket pockets. "You're gonna tell us everything, Bela. Demon powers or not, we know your kind's the weaker breed. Just give it up now and we might send you back to Hell mostly intact."

"I don't negotiate with humans." Impatient, Bela rolled her eyes and turned, apparently finished with the encounter and decided to leave.

Dean let her do it. He let her think she could slink back through whatever little horrid hole spit her out into the world again. And then he struck, violence and lightning sharp, twisting her backwards by her throat. Betrayal and shock ignited her meat suit's eyes as the burning, boiling sensation of salt coating Dean's hand registered in her mind. Flesh bubbled beneath his palm as he easily clutched her throat in the girth of his hand. He dragged her back close to Sam, her stiletto heels scraping the concrete floor.

Prepared, Sam threw a chain over the pipe running across the ceiling and snapped demon-proof handcuffs they'd snatched from the bunker before they ever came to Maine around her wrists. Dean felt her voice struggling to screech beneath his salty grip as his brother hoisted the chain, which yanked her arms high over her head. It all looked very fluid and well-rehearsed between brothers, but they had only briefly talked about how to corral the succubus in the devil's trap before they summoned one. Only Sam moved with Dean in hunts as if they were extensions of the other body. They would never have been able to catch her if they couldn't predict each other's movements and they knew it.

"Bloody, spineless piss ants!" growled the succubus at the second it occurred to her that she couldn't bust out of the handcuffs.

Now it was Dean's turn, sarcastically mimicking the way her tongue clicked the roof of her mouth when Sam dared to ask an obvious question. He shook his head, smiling as if he enjoyed every second of this. "Now, now, name-calling won't do you any good here except making me mad and you don't want to do that." As he spoke, he produced Ruby's demon blade from the inner breast pocket of his jacket and casually poured cinnamon over it. "You know, it's funny you mentioned my skills in torture. Maybe you need a little demonstration. See, I heard cinnamon's like poison to you succubi."

"Fuck you!" she spat.

"Nah. You might like that too much. I just don't feel like dealing with the awkward morning after will-I-or-won't-I call you drama." The blade, coated in cinnamon, filled the air with a spicy sweetness that made Bela choked on her own breath. "Now, let's talk about your Queen, and the King of the Incubi for that matter."

Bela managed a bitter laugh through the awful way breathing cinnamon made her chest spasm. Her body wriggled as it hung from the chain that Sam manned a few yards away. "Just what do you think you'll do with that? You're not worth the maggots feasting on the rotten flesh of their dead sacrifices. Go back to your little blue-eyed boy toy."

Dean leaned in close and pressed the side of the blade along her cheekbone. Her lips grimaced as the cinnamon burned into her flesh as efficiently as holy water.

"Hoist her up, Sammy," he ordered with the slightest hint of glee.

Immediately, Sam obeyed, and pulled on his end of the chain. Over the pipe, it served as leverage, which drew her wrists higher and higher until it stretched her arms to the limits of their endurance. With another heaving pull, Sam's strength nearly jerked her completely off the ground and a low, wild, animal growl rolled around her chest and made its way out of her throat. Copper flooded her eyes again. Dean recognized with immense satisfaction that demons flashed their true eyes in moments of physical distress.

"You ever been racked? There's something to be said for medieval torture. They sure knew what they were doing. How's it feel?" Dean felt the satisfaction of complete and utter control over another being, something he found so addicting during his apprenticeship under Alastair as much as he was loathed to admit it. Thinly, he smiled to himself and flipped the handle of the demon blade in his hand exactly the way, Castiel is to flip angel blades.

Out of the corner of his eye, Dean noticed Sam watching him with that kind of judgmental silence his younger brother often exhibited when the darker side came out of him. He chose to ignore it for the time being and he consoled himself by remembering that Castiel wasn't there to see it.

Just before stretching her joints too far and letting her feel the ligaments stretch, the balls pull from their sockets, and the entirety of her weight centered on hanging from her wrists, Dean flipped his hand. The signal made Sam give the chain enough slack to drop her feet to the floor again. And so Dean waited, always waiting for his victim to regain their senses just enough to feel a little hope that they might live, and then he approached Bela once again.

"Ready to talk yet?"

"Is this really how you're going to treat me? You saved my life once," she hissed. The sweat of pain and being strained beyond her endurance, even as a demon, glistened her face and her décolletage peeking out of that tight, slinky dress.

"Nobody's perfect," Dean replied nonchalantly. "You screwed us over every chance you got. You killed your own parents. Do you really want to start keeping score, baby?" He reached up and sliced thin line with demon blade down along the tender inner side of her forearm from the wrist to the elbow. "Talk to me, Bela," he beckoned in a velvety voice. "Where is your Queen? Who is she? Give us a name."

Copper sludge bled from the wound as if the very blood of the succubus was nothing more than thick liquid metal. A demon blade scorching that line down her inner forearm brought a wild, inhuman scream from her lips.

"You're going to have to do better than that!" Her boasting and swaggering despite shuddering in pain said a lot about her stubbornness, which might very well have been equally matched to his own.

Dean's eyebrow arched high on his forehead and his lips protruded with a nod. "All right, then."

Turning his back to her, the one-time torturer's apprentice lifted a tarp from a pilot crates with the swoosh of material in the air. He'd stashed a few tools of the trade, so to speak. He selected a syringe and filled it with holy water. The injection of holy water into a demon provided consistent and inescapable pain throughout the meat suit they occupied in a way that he could not do with his hands. Knowing that she couldn't smoke out with those handcuffs gave him the best advantage for such an injection.

Dean faced her again and showed her the syringe. "Last chance. Tell me what I need to know and I won't fill you to the brim with holy water."

As if drugged, her eyes languidly opened and closed with her darkened laughter.

And it went on like that for a solid three hours. Dean used every measure of torture at his disposal – the grand arsenal of a forty year education in Hell. Twice Sam had to walk away and catch his breath, clearly not in possession of Dean's unfortunate education. The succubus fought his tricks and methods, frequently spitting copper sludge in his face and spitting violent, repulsive phrases until Dean realized every ounce of Bela's humanity got burned away long ago. The thing calling herself Bela there in that warehouse never exhibited a second of empathy or conscience. She only knew slavery to her Queen. In her, Dean saw what could have become of himself had Castiel not saved him. The distraction nearly broke his resolve.

Nearly.

*****

Dean and Sam walked into a dark living room.

The younger brother had hardly spoken to the older brother on the way home once the grisly work was done. Of course, Sam had always known that Dean was Alastair's apprentice in Hell, but he'd never seen those skills so up close and personal. It bothered him. And Dean didn't know how to approach the subject. He wanted to tell Sam that he was still the same guy, but the truth was, Dean had never been the same since he came back. Resurrecting those abilities opened up something dark in him again that he didn't quite understand, nor did he know how to explain out loud. So they didn't talk about it at all.

"Where is everyone?" Sam dropped his backpack on the table against the wall closest to the front door.

"No idea," replied Dean. "I'm gonna check upstairs."

Nodding, Sam hesitated a second. "Thanks for letting me crash here tonight."

"It's nothing. No sense in you driving all the way down to Portland when you can just as easily sleep here. You know," mumbled Dean, suddenly aware of copper sludge splattered on his hand, "just 'cause we don't live together anymore doesn't mean we're not brothers or that you have to, like, ask to stay in my house. We've been through too much together, Sammy. Everything that's mine is yours. Okay?"

"'Cept Cas," replied Sam with a little smirk. "We don't have to share him."

The joke finally got Dean to relax a little bit as he trudged up the stairwell. He laughed and listened to Sam making his way toward the couch.

Bright light caught somewhere between iridescent white and yellow spilled from Charlie's bedroom doorway. Muffled, higher pitched laughter spilled from her bedroom as well. Dean recognized that sound and it took him back to his days as a single man on the prowl. Flirtation. Silent as the tomb, he peered around her bedroom doorway. She laid on her back in bed wearing her favorite skinny jeans and a bright blue t-shirt with her orangey red hair streaming over the side of the mattress. Knees drawn up toward the ceiling, she giggled into the phone pressed to her ear. Everything about her resembled a teenage girl gabbing on the phone when she was supposed to be babysitting, but Dean corrected himself as soon as that thought crossed his mind. Castiel would detest the idea that Charlie remains behind to "babysit" him.

"I know! You gotta come back soon. Christmas is too far away," she said to the phone in a rather singsong voice.

Dean smirked to himself. He couldn't help it. As soon as she said Christmas, he knew she was flirting on the phone in the middle of the night with Rhiannon. In some ways, he regretted the fact that he never got to have those late-night mindless phone calls with Castiel and he regretted the fact that they never dated properly like everybody else. They just sort of tumbled into their relationship. In the end, though, he would never, ever regret the things he did to protect that former angel, including the things he did to Bela that night.

Briefly, he thought of that succubus rotting in Hell at that very moment.

Charlie didn't need him to interrupt her flirty phone call, so he passed quickly through the hall to his own bedroom where he found Castiel reading in bed. The second he opened the door, blue eyes shot up to his face with the kind of expectation that suggested perfect faith in everything he did.

"I thought you'd be asleep by now," Dean said quietly, shutting the door behind him and shucking off his jacket, his shoes, and his shirt. He suddenly felt the need to get away from everything connected to that night.

"I waited up for you," replied Castiel.

With more tenderness than Dean thought he had left in him, he threw a smile over to Castiel as he tugged his jeans down his legs. Left in nothing but his boxer briefs, he finally felt like he couldn't breathe a little bit. He sat on his side of the bed facing the headboard, facing Castiel, and crossed his legs beneath him. There was no way he would be able to sleep at all that night but he wanted to be with Castiel so long as he remained awake.

"How are you feeling?"

Castiel's eyes narrowed. The obvious question hung between them of whether Dean had been successful in torturing the information they needed out of the succubus, but he just wanted to touch something normal for a few minutes. Somehow Castiel picked up on that. The former angel closed his book and put it on the nightstand. He leaned across the comforter and wrapped himself around Dean's shoulders, bare chest pressed to bare chest. At first, Dean stiffened, not really believing deep down that he deserved any kind of affection after what he'd done, after the part of himself that he'd been forced to touch that night, but in a few minutes, the tension finally get away from his body. He buried his face in Castiel's naked shoulder and Castiel reciprocated with the same silent intimacy.

"I feel a lot stronger," Castiel said eventually. "Almost like new until the next treatment."

"So it worked," said Dean, relieved.

He felt Castiel shrug around him. "I'll never be cured of this immunodeficiency, but I think with these treatments, I have a better shot at living a comfortable life. As comfortable as I can with frequent illnesses and constant awareness of bacteria, viruses, and germs. I'm content just to be able to walk up and down the stairs without getting tired."

"Well, I'm gonna be there for every treatment," Dean promised.

"I know," said Castiel, the weight of his words touching something deeper. "You're a good man, Dean. That's why I'm going to marry you."

Silence drifted in between them and Dean was grateful for it. He was grateful that Castiel didn't attack him at the doorway with questions about what he'd done or how it turned out in the end. They never talked about how torture damaged the one doing the work as much as it did the victim. Of course they would never say such things in Hell, a place where no possible consideration of comfort or peace could exist. Close to an hour passed, Dean guest, with Castiel wrapped around him before he felt like he could even approach the subject. Of course there were such important matters at hand and he couldn't hide in his own darkness forever, as appealing as that might have been at that moment.

"It was Bela," he said without ceremony.

"Bela?"

"Sammy and I summoned a succubus and the one that showed up was Bela Talbot. I think I told you about her once. We used to know her. She made a deal with crossroads demon and that demon cashed in before my deal got cashed in too. Now she's a demon herself. A succubus. She said the Queen hand picked her for this kind of work. I'm not surprised about that, really, because Bela always used, you know, her feminine wiles or whatever to get what she wanted. I just didn't expect to summon a succubus and have her turn up. That was the last thing I ever expected." Dean shook his head and pulled away from Castiel enough to look him in the eye. "She wouldn't give up the information willingly."

"They never do," said Castiel in his most understanding, quiet way.

"Then you… You know what I had to do."

The former angel nodded, blue eyes patient and refusing to judge Dean for it.

"I pushed her as far as I could without killing her outright. She was stubborn. More stubborn than the average demon, I guess, and that's probably because she was ridiculously stubborn when she was human. She said she'd already given three halfbreed kids to the cause. She called it a cause," he explained it as best as he could but he felt like he repeated himself a lot, perhaps to avoid getting down to the meat of the night.

"They always call these things causes. I suppose they do that to drum up loyalty. Demons are much more independent minded than angels. Most of them were people once and you know people are born with free will. The hierarchy has to work harder to inspire loyalty for these grisly deeds." Somehow listening to Castiel speak like an angel again covered Dean over with a blanket of comfort. "Think about every diabolical war in history. Every dictator has conned people into murdering and dying for them by convincing them that this cause is for the betterment of themselves. It's no different with the Queen of the Succubi and the King of the Incubi, or even Lucifer himself. Of course, I don't have to explain these things to you, Dean. You're far more intelligent than that."

He nodded. Not that he agreed that he was intelligent or anything, but the way Castiel explained it made sense to him.

"Did she give you anything useful?" Castiel's question sounded so pure and innocent that it could never have been construed as pushy or cruel.

"I didn't get any locations," said Dean dismally.

He nodded. He didn't seem angry but a small flash of frustration zapped both of them as if Castiel had accumulated static electricity.

"But…"

"But?"

The slightest smile picked up Dean's face. "The Queen's name is Laradima and the King's name is Modeseus."


	28. Breaking the Cycle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wilhelmina going on a date doesn't sit well with Sam and he struggles to focus on the demon hunt. When she finally returns that night, it's clear that her date doesn't go as great as she'd hoped. What does it mean for Sam? Late that night, Dean finds Castiel in the kitchen with a strange new habit: he's an obsessive cleaner when he's upset. A little prodding from Dean reveals Castiel's first real brush with inequality toward same-sex relationships. He wonders how they can even get married in that awful society.

Charlie picked up the scent of angst and fidgeted like a puppy at the dining room table. "Okay, what the hell's with Sam?" she hissed over a demonology book published before the Civil War. A quick glance through to doorway assured her that he actually left the room. "Doesn't he seem - I dunno -  _broodier_ to you? Is that even a word?"

"No," replied Castiel dryly over his own book, "but give it time. The English language is remarkably fluid."

"Thank you, professor," she sassed.

Dean tilted his chair back on two legs for a better look at his brother. "Hey Sammy, what are you doing looking out the window like a cornball music video? Get in here!"

Snickering, Charlie rolled her eyes. "Way to be subtle, Dean."

"What?" They weren't subtle people.

Wordless, Sam dragged himself back to the herd and took his seat again. He grabbed another book from a haphazard pile strewn over the middle of the dining table and flipped it open without bothering to care about what book he chose. He clearly wanted to appear present and busy with searching for the King of the Incubi and the Queen of the Succubi, but he lacked focus. Dean knew something really ate at him but he also knew his little brother didn't want to talk about it. Still....

"You're dragging the party down, man. What's with you?" he pushed.

A sigh lifted from the end of the table where Castiel slammed his book shut and muttered, "Nothing useful in this one," as he went through the stack for the next selection.

Sam eyed Dean and hesitated. "She has a date tonight," he finally said.

"Wilhelmina?" asked Dean, lifting his forehead in astonishment.

"Ouch," Charlie murmured. She recoiled and pulled her book along too.

Dean's head tipped. "I thought you guys were, y'know, on the verge of--"

"--No.  _I_ am.  _She's_ not." The sharpness of Sam's retort put an end to the conversation. He dropped his eyes to the book again, frustration and self-pity emanating from his presence with the potency of bad cologne.

"Ouch," Dean whispered, mimicking Charlie.

"Yeah," said Sam with a huff. "Can we move on now?"

Charlie's phone blared in her pocket, a muffled tune that Dean thought he recognized. She pulled it out and glanced at the screen with a stupidly happy smile. The ringtone actually got a smile out of Sam but Dean rolled his eyes and laughed at her.

"Are you friggin serious? You're actually using Fleetwood Mac's  _Rhiannon_ as her ringtone?" he teased.

"Quiet, you." Her smile damn near sparkled as she got up from the table. "'Scuse me, muggles. I've got a real witch to talk to."

Confused, Castiel glanced Dean's way. "What's a muggle?"

"Oh my God, Cas!" Charlie shouted from the living room.

*****

Somewhere in Sam, he hoped he'd find Wilhelmina folded up on the couch in her obnoxious fuzzy pajama pants watching a girl movie when he got home. He only found his apartment dark and silent despite the hour a bit past eleven. Even her baby had plans to spend the weekend with his grandmother, while Sam, on the other hand, only had an endless cycle of working at the bar and working on the demon hunt.

He flipped on every light he encountered just the way she did. It was an awful waste of electricity but it made his little apartment feel a little less empty. But then, as he changed into loose pajama pants of his own with a ratty old t-shirt, he berated himself for being an emo idiot. It wasn't like she died or something. She just went on a date. He just wasn't ready to give up yet.

Two hours passed and she still didn't come back, though, which didn't bode well for him. Maybe she was having a good time. Maybe she really liked the guy, whoever he was, leaving him a chump obsessing over his pseudo-roommate. Television lost its luster not long after flipping through every channel and he couldn't focus enough to concentrate on demonology research either. So he paced. He did the dishes. And he paced some more. Although he made up the couch like he did every night, he knew there was no way in hell that he could sleep.

Finally, around one-thirty in the morning, a key jiggled his doorknob. Sam dashed around the kitchen island and threw himself into his couch burrito before she got it unlocked, hoping he appeared convincingly asleep. He faced the back of the couch with his blankets thrown high over his face.

High heels pounded angrily toward the refrigerator. The bright light spilled into the living room as she mumbled, "Sack of shit, asshole, mother of all pigs," at the leftovers. Something hit the counter and a high heel shoved the refrigerator door shut again. She wasn't even trying to be quiet, or maybe she was just too irritated to try. Either way, even if he really slept, that willowy tornado would have woken him.

"What's with you?" Sam grumbled as he rolled over and sat up, trying to look as drowsy as possible.

"Nothing," she replied, stabbing a fork through the whole cheesecake she'd brought home the day before. It didn't appear that she cared about slicing a reasonable piece. She was on her way to systematically devouring the entire cake there at the island in her little black dress and high heels. "You know, just because a woman chooses to look nice and dress up once in a while doesn't make it an invitation to grope us and try to get laid. What's  _with_ you men?"

"Reasonable men learned that when we were kids," countered Sam as he shoved his blankets away and got up to lean on the counter opposite her.

She blinked and waved her fork with attitude. "So, what, the ones who ask me out are unreasonable?"

"I didn't say that," he replied carefully. "Did he try something?"

"He tried everything." Wilhelmina rolled her large dark eyes and stabbed the cheesecake again. He saw her bravado begin to crumble. "I must have a giant bull's eye painted on my forehead. Gross men get your rocks off with this girl! She's too stupid to say no!"

Sam's jaw clenched. "Did you say no? Did he hurt you?"

"I said no. He didn't get a chance to try again because I kinda impaled his balls on my heel. These things make great weapons." She smirked proudly, but he saw underneath that the date shook her. A little bit of laughter followed in a last grand attempt at bravado. It stuttered and broke away into choked back tears. She jammed the fork into the cheesecake and left it there, hiding her face in her hands. "Jesus. What's wrong with me, Sam?"

Despite his first instinct being to gather her up in a tight embrace against his chest, he knew better than to actually do it. She was still so skittish, so much like a feral kitten, and she needed her freedom to escape if she felt too constrained. So instead, he rounded the island counter and rubbed a comforting hand between her shoulderblades.

"I guess you're just in a bad cycle," he ventured quietly. "Sometime when you feel safe again, you'll see the assholes a mile away and they'll stop asking you out."

Sam didn't know what kind of a response he expected but Wilhelmina wiping tears away with the back of her hand and suddenly clutching him around the chest certainly wasn't it. His arms raised as if touching her wasn't allowed, and, peering down at her, marveled at the ferocity of the kitten's claws entrenched in his back muscles. Only when she didn't let go did he allow a careful hand along the back of her head and a safe distance from the intimacy of her lower back. Time passed as she cried it out in her silent manner of inner strength over emotional outbursts.

And just like that, she backed away, wiping her eyes. "I gotta get to bed," she mumbled. It sounded more like an excuse but she didn't even look back as she headed for the bedroom. "Night, Sam."

"Wil--" But she was gone.

*****

The middle of the night never bothered Dean before but waking up to an empty bed instantly made him feel cold and isolated. He tied his bathrobe around his waist in case he ran into Charlie's nocturnal wanderings, and searched the house for Castiel.

He found the one-time angel bent over the kitchen sink scrubbing the life out of shelves from the refrigerator. All of the refrigerator's contents stood patiently on the kitchen table waiting to be put away again. Castiel scrubbed the shelves as if he had some vendetta against them and he didn't seem to care about soap suds and puddles of water spreading across the counter.

"Did you notice the leaking raspberry jelly jar?" he asked over the shelf.

"No..." Dean replied carefully. "This couldn't wait 'til, y'know, daylight?"

"I was hungry. I only started wiping up the jelly and then ... this happened. I don't know. It seemed awfully uneven to wash one shelf and leave the others so filthy," Castiel explained without looking up. He placed a shelf to dry on the counter and plucked another one from the dirty pile.

"Okay..." Clearly something ate at Castiel and obsessive cleaning evolved into a component of his human personality. "You wanna come to bed soon?"

At first, Castiel didn't answer him. He didn't even behave as if he knew Dean was in the room. Finally, he mumbled, "Dean, why are there no wedding magazines for men?"

That took Dean aback. He gaped at him. "W-wedding magazines?"

"This morning when I went to the grocery store with Jenna, I told her we never had a wedding and we wanted to have one. It was the only story I could think of," he said, his voice turning sadder by the syllable. "There were fourteen different wedding magazines, all of which featured women in gigantic dresses. Nothing useful for us. Why is that?"

"I guess it's because marriage between men or between women isn't legal in every state. I dunno, Cas. I never really thought about it."

"But  _why_?" He huffed a rather affected sigh and shook his head at the scrubbing refrigerator shelves.

Dean sighed too, seeing the ugliness of discrimination through Castiel's innocent eyes. He never considered it before, but then again, he'd never identified with the affected people before either. Things were different with Castiel. They always were.

"A lot of people seem to think gay marriage goes against God, and making it legal's a pretty new thing," Dean explained, though he was no expert on it. "They think we're sinners or whatever. They think us loving each other is unnatural. It's ... it's a pretty big cultural debate. People die over it every day. Suicide and stuff." The conversation made him more and more uncomfortable the longer he had to explain it. "Sammy's smarter. He knows more about these things."

Castiel stopped his obsessive scrubbing and flashed his blue eyes at him. "You're just as smart as Sam. Don't do that to yourself." And then his attention diverted to the dirty refrigerator shelves once more. "Only man thinks himself wise enough to know what God wants. Love is a universal gift, not something that can be divided and picked apart for cultural agendas. I don't know how we can get married, Dean."

The way he sounded so downtrodden about their impending marriage sent a jolt of fear up Dean's spine. He approached Castiel with a hand slipped around the small of his back and he flipped off the faucet.

"Listen, Cas," he said in his softest, most private voice with his lips brushing the former angel's cheekbone, "we're gonna get married and we're gonna do it our way. You don't need wedding magazines to tell you how to do it. Magazines don't know us."

"What if I lose my job because my spouse is a man?" he asked in a whisper.

Dean's arm squeezed him tighter around the back. "They can't do that. It's illegal. Don't worry so much." He pressed a kiss like a brand into Castiel's cheek. "There are dicks everywhere but there are just as many people like Jenna or Sammy who don't care. Doesn't mean you hide away because you're scared. When have we ever done that? We're hunting demons right now and that's just another day on the job, you know? Idiots are gonna be ignorant no matter what we do, so we might as well hold on to the one happy thing we've got and say fuck 'em."

"Fuck 'em," Castiel parroted, turning into the crook of Dean's neck. His soapy hands wrapped around Dean's waist, resting along the fabric strip tying his bathrobe shut. "Will you wear a suit?"

"Do I have to?" groaned Dean.

"Yes," replied Castiel, smirking against his throat. "I like the way you look in suits."

"Hmm. Come to bed and convince me then," offered Dean with a dry suggestive tone.

A silent smile found Castiel's lips, abandoning the obsessive cleaning, and he tugged Dean by their linked hands. The angel Castiel may have been aware of corruption in organized religion and earthly governments, but it seemed the new human Castiel faced the baptism by fire, confused and sometimes broken-hearted. Dean made it his business to try and preserve the innocent way he viewed the world as much as he could. It was his job, after all, to put Castiel's heart back together whenever something hard and ugly shattered it.

*****

Her willowy figure didn't even fill up half of Sam's bed. He didn't mean to stare but she caught his eye through the cracked door as he made a pre-dawn bathroom run. It wasn't like he slept much anyway. Lying on her side, he couldn't make out her features in the dark, but the length of her black hair splayed over both pillows. It resembled seaweed in the shadows but he knew it felt like silk through his fingers.

"I'm not gonna jump off your balcony or anything if that's what you're worried about," she mumbled, her words thick with sleep.

"Oh, uh, I wasn't thinking that," Sam stammered. "Sorry."

He ducked down the hall, but her voice beckoned him again. "Sam?"

"Yeah?" He poked his head into the doorway.

For once in Wilhelmina's life, she didn't have anything to say. She leaned up on her elbow and reached behind her, pulling back the other half of the bed covers. He still couldn't see her facial features but she turned toward him and wordlessly pulled him into the room.

Sam thought for certain his heart was going to explode out of his chest. She didn't say it, of course, but she invited him to bed with her, something he never thought would happen. Then again, he never thought she'd latch onto him for comfort or security or whatever she needed earlier that night in the kitchen. He sank between the sheets as carefully as he would if she'd suddenly realized what she did and kick him out on the spot. But she didn't. She settled on her side again, her hands stuffed under her pillow. He wasn't sure but ... he ... yes, he folded himself behind her like the big spoon to the little spoon and rested his arm around her waist.

Silence fell. So silent, in fact, that he listened to the slow measure of her breathing and swore she could feel his stupid heart knocking into her back. Her hair smelled like apples and stuck to his stubble. For a moment, he forgot that she was a feral kitten and slipped his fingers over her forearms and softly nuzzled the back of her head. Heaven.

"Aren't you gonna...?" she whispered.

"What?" he whispered back.

"You know what I mean, Sam."

It occurred to him that she meant sex. She assumed inviting him into her bed automatically meant she expected him to grope and handle her like a toy just for his own amusement. Not that he didn't want to sleep with her, but it honestly didn't cross his mind there. Sam was many things but he was never a man to take advantage of a broken woman. Just as he knew that about himself, he also knew that she wouldn't believe him if only because she never had a man worth anything before.

"No, I'm not gonna," he said simply.

"Oh..." She didn't seem to know what to do with that. Neither did he, really, but they didn't move until well after dawn.


	29. Copper Expert

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean is suffering with nightmares of Hell again, but he keeps working to help Castiel find and kill the Queen of the Succubi and the King of the Incubi. If he doesn't do the deeds, Heaven won't ever let him live in peace. Sam and Wilhelmina have gotten a lot closer, but they haven't gotten physical no matter how badly he wants her. And at the family dinner that week, they plan their trip to see a demonologist in New York. Suddenly, Charlie makes a decision that shocks everyone.

Sulphur stuck to the back of Dean’s throat. He leaned into the shadows as a hot black film bled over his eyes. His lips curled back, sneering, as he took hold of the blade. A thin knife would do for that one as he plotted out the map of sliced flesh, layer by layer, until his little victim writhed with maddening agony.

She screamed. Sweat glistened over her entire naked form as the mere threat of Dean and his torture tools damaged her mind more than the actual torture. A skilled demon in that art never got his hands dirty. He waited for the right moment. And then he made the first cut. A burst of blood splattered down her stomach as she wailed, voice trembling with horror and the prayer for death. Except she was already dead. And so was he. Soon she'd lose her humanity and become a demon like him.

"Such control, Dean. Well done," Alistair’s voice curled and slithered behind him.

Icy cold lightning jolted Dean upright on the couch. He didn’t know where he was at first - still in Hell or in a comfortable Maine home with Castiel. Clutching his chest, he fought off the old shadows, the old evil so carefully buried in his nature. He panted and dragged the back of his forearm over his face, wiping away the sweat, and slowly realizing it wasn’t real. It was a nightmare. He repeated it to himself over and over again as he dragged his soul back to his body.

"Dean?"

The voice frightened him. He jumped and spun on the couch where his eyes settled on Castiel seated at his desk by the great picture window. He abandoned a pen on his well-used journal, anxiety for Dean wrinkling his face.

"You’re home?" Dean asked hoarsely.

"Yes. School let out an hour ago. I saw you napping and I didn’t want to wake you. Now I think perhaps I should have after all." The former angel’s voice trailed off and he abandoned his desk for Dean’s side. Gently, affectionately, he took the hunter’s face in his hands and drew his forehead in for a kiss. "Was it another nightmare?"

"Shit. Was I yelling again?"

"Only a little," Castiel replied. "I used to see your nightmares. It’s been a while but … but I know the signs."

"Oh…."

"It’s okay, Dean," he whispered, hands touching his face in the most loving manner. "You're home now. Those days are long since passed."

Dean’s breath barely fueled his words. “I tortured Bela,” he murmured, quite horrified with himself, and dropping is eyes to his hands in his lap.

"You did what you had to do," Castiel consoled, "but you can't do it again. It’s too much for your soul to tolerate. We’re not getting anywhere as it is searching for the Queen of the Succubi and the King of the Incubi. I think what we should do next is seek out other demonology experts. We’ll talk to Sam about this. But no matter what our next move is, I want you to have a break from dealing directly with demons. This is non-negotiable."

Entirely too worn down to argue, Dean nodded. He gave in to Castiel only because he was the only person who he knew had his best interests at heart.

Without saying a word further that might damage his fragile ego, Castiel slipped one arm around Dean’s shoulders and the other around his waist. Again, Dean found himself too worn down by the nightmare to fight it. He allowed himself to be surrounded and comforted even if he never thought he deserved it. Burying his nose in the crook of Castiel’s neck, he closed his eyes and inhaled the scent of home.

"How was work?" he mumbled into Castiel's shoulder.

"What?"

Dean sighed. "I don't wanna talk about demons. Talk about anything, just not those copper-eyed sons of bitches."

"Oh. All right. Well--" Castiel's hand traversed up and down Dean's back as he scrambled somewhat awkwardly for a mundane topic, "--I got a new student today. She's got a little wheelchair. Jenna said she started school ten days late because she'd been recovering from surgery. Her name is Kayleigh and her parents think she'll never read or write because of her cerebral palsy but I disagree. There's a divine spark in this little girl like there is for anyone else."

"What are you gonna do?" asked Dean, slowly relaxing back into the real world.

"I'm going to teach her myself. Jenna thinks it's a good idea," Castiel replied, still rubbing his back. "We're going to work on coloring and activities that strengthen her hands. I want to see her holding markers on her own by the end of the year. Her parents don't seem to care much about her. It's rather sad. I met the mother briefly this morning and she's clearly addicted to prescription painkillers. If Jenna and I don't give Kayleigh a head start, nobody else will."

"You have the patience of a saint," murmured Dean.

"She's a sweet little girl. Perhaps you'll meet her," he suggested. A bit of silence passed before he nuzzled Dean's neck in return. "Do you feel better now?"

"Yeah. As good as I'm gonna get, I guess."

*****

Three Dollar Deweys was dead and Sam was glad for it. He finally had time to really clean up the bar before the late night rush crawled in for ale and greasy pizza. He faced the back wall arranging the top shelf liquors down front where people would see them better.

"Come here often, big boy?" Wilhelmina cooed discreetly as she passed behind him to the break room. Her hand popped his butt in passing, a playful smirk lifting one side of her red painted lips.

"Hey," he replied with a smirk just the same. "Don't think you were working 'til nine."

From the break room, she called through the door, "I dropped my boy off early and brought you dinner. You didn't eat anything before you left."

They hadn't so much as kissed on the mouth yet and she still did those little things like bringing him food. His little feral kitten came close to him when darkness fell and no one scared her away. They curled around each other as they slept, but in the morning, she always got out of bed before he woke. His personal frustration, denying himself the urges to kiss her and make love to her, became unbearable at times with unfortunate blood flow at the wrong moments, but he stayed back. She needed time. It was never spoken but they both knew.

Sam leaned against the break room door frame with his arms crossed and a little smile as he watched her unload his backpack. She finally began wearing mascara and red lipstick like she did when they first met, making him hope that she slowly regained her sense of self.

"You look beautiful tonight," he commented in a low tone.

"Stow the poetry, babydoll. You want Harry to hear you?"

Chuckling, he pulled up a chair. "He's not gonna fire us for being what we are these days."

"Not willing to risk it," she said as she plopped down a plastic container of salad and chicken strips in front of him. "Any news on the copper situation? Or the little mini-coppers?"

"Nope. My brother-in-law wants to go talk to, uh, you know, copper experts and I found one at NYU." Their way of talking in code by calling demons copper or their offspring mini-coppers had been Wilhelmina's own design. "I promised we'd find a way to work on the copper problem and I meant it. I don't want you to worry."

"My baby's sick. Of course I'm gonna worry," she whispered secretly. "I'm coming to NYU with you guys."

"Wil--"

"--Nope. Don't even try coddling me," she insisted as she squirted a packet of vinegar dressing all over his salad for him. "I'm going. I have a right to know what we're doing with my baby and all the other babies like him out there. Somebody has to take up their cause."

Watching her made Sam smirk again.

Her round, dark eyes framed by heavy black lashes turned up to his face. "What's with you?"

"You don't want me to coddle you, yet here you are, bringing me dinner and doing my salad dressing for me," he said with a quick gesture at his food. "Okay, you can come to NYU but not Logan. You gotta have a sitter keep him while we're gone. The less he's around us while we investigate, the more the dem-coppers have a chance of finding out what we're doing. He's like a tracking device. Okay?"

"Yeah," she agreed. "So I'm going with you."

Nodding, Sam leaned up in his chair and raked his fingers through her cascade of black hair. "I'll book us a hotel room then," he said softly as he tucked a piece of hair behind her ear.

*****

Dean insisted on family dinner one night every week, especially since Castiel started dealing with his immunodeficiency and Charlie walked a tightrope of depression. Some days she was okay, but others, she hid out in her bedroom and barely spoke to anyone. Video games kept her company more than people. Maybe it was being assaulted by an incubus. Maybe it was missing Rhiannon. But family dinner night, Dean told them, was non-negotiable.

"I can't go to New York unless it's over a weekend," announced Castiel as he set the table. "I need to be in the classroom with my children. If it goes longer, then I'll come home on my own to make it to work, okay?"

"Yup. We'll take the train Friday and put you on the train again Sunday night if things end up taking longer," Dean agreed, talking into the dining room from the kitchen. He basted his turkey for the last leg of roasting and left it in the oven for mashing the sweet potatoes.

"You sure you wanna put him on a train with his immunity thing?" Charlie asked cautiously. She popped open a couple of beer bottles and then poured juice for herself and Castiel, neither very interested in booze.

"I don't want him on a train, really, but I can't lock him up in the house either," replied Dean. "I think I'm gonna get him some gloves. You know, leather things that won't make people stare. It's getting cool enough that he can wear a jacket and gloves and nobody will think anything's up. I mean, that doesn't help airborne germs but we'll just have to keep an eye on him for a few days, I guess."

"I am right here, you know. I can hear you," called Castiel from the dining room. "I'm sick. I'm not deaf."

Dean twisted around and peered through the doorway with a smirk. "You're sexy when you're a sarcastic little shit."

"Is that all it takes for you?" chuckled Castiel. He leaned through the doorway and winked.

"Oh, gross," Charlie groaned, escaping the kitchen. "It's like watching my brothers make googly eyes at each other."

"Hey, yo! We're here!"

Dean stepped out into the hallway just as Sam came through the front door with Wilhelmina carrying Logan the demon baby. He wasn't expecting them and at first he didn't know what to say, so he offered an awkward wave and a hello. Charlie appeared behind him - the source of his anxiety. She didn't seem to know how to feel around a seemingly innocent child that had demonic blood.

"Is this cool?" asked Sam, sincerely not meaning to bother anyone.

"Uh... Well..." Dean stammered.

Tense silence followed as Castiel appeared in the hallway as well, a glass of juice in one hand a beer bottle in the other. "Hello, Sam," he greeted warmly as he passed the beer to him.

"Hey, Cas. You doing okay?"

Castiel nodded. "I'm well."

Still rather awkwardly, Dean cleared his throat. "Um, I think--"

"--It's fine. Don't worry," interrupted Charlie with a pacifying hand on Dean's shoulder. "Hi, Wilhelmina. We've got plenty of food tonight. Lemme take your jacket. Sam's pretty useless about that kind of thing." Though approaching the baby still clearly made her nervous, she _tried_. She jokingly slapped Sam's back in passing and helped Wilhelmina with her jacket and her bag. "Does, um, does your little guy eat turkey and stuff yet?"

"Nothing too solid. Potatoes and things," replied Wilhelmina. Her dark eyes apprehensively sought Sam's reassuring gaze. It seemed she knew what Charlie thought of her and Logan, and that she probably made the worst of it.

The oddly assembled family of outcasts gathered around Dean's table that night just as they did every week. Though Wilhelmina never joined their family dinners before that night, she sat beside Sam with Logan in her lap, and Dean realized it was his brother of saying they were together without saying it. Sure took long enough. Sam never had the patience to wait for any woman to decide if she wanted him but he waited for her. As Dean sat at the head of his table, he passed food down the line with the fleeting question of how he could ever go back to the bunker after experiencing life that way.

"So I got Thursday through Monday off work," said Sam as he dished out green beans for himself. "If Wilhelmina can find a sitter, she's coming along. All of this affects her too."

"You sure that's a good idea?" Dean asked.

His brother made a point to look him square in the eye as he answered, "Yeah, I do." He meant it and Dean knew it would be pointless to argue.

Charlie, sitting across from Wilhelmina, spooned potatoes into her mouth and observed the exchange in silence, until, "It must be tough finding a babysitter you can trust."

"Yeah, it is," Wilhelmina said with a nod. "I want to be there and hear what this professor has to say firsthand. If these kids can be cured, I'm gonna make sure it happens. They don't deserve to suffer because their parents were attacked by demons." A light shrug lifted her shoulders. "Maybe this is what I'm supposed to do with my life."

The need to shield and protect rose up in Dean as he watched the color drain from Charlie's features when Wilhelmina casually mentioned being attacked by demons. His brother's apparent girlfriend seemed to be a lot stronger and a lot more stubborn than Charlie when it came to the defiance required to bounce back from what happened to them. And she had Sam. The only person Charlie showed interest in was Rhiannon, who lived a few hours away. She snapped out of it, though, and worked on pulling more turkey from the bone.

"Um..." Charlie began hesitantly, "maybe ... maybe I can watch your kid over the weekend."

The entire dinner table froze and all eyes turned to her. She glanced quickly around the table in a self-conscious moment but focused on Wilhelmina again.

"Are you ... I mean ... do you want to do that?" she probed carefully.

Charlie gave a half-hearted nod and stammered her way through her reasons. "What he is ... it's not his fault. Yours either. I gotta get over this fear eating away at my gut, especially 'cause Sam's obviously lost his marbles over you. So I can either hide out in my room like a wuss whenever you come over, or I can grow a pair, face my fears, and get to know your kid better. Logan, I mean. Sorry. I'll quit calling him the kid."

"He's a good baby," said Wilhelmina, trying to bridge the gap as well. "I mean he doesn't show signs of...."

"No eyes or anything?" Charlie asked with a gesture at her own eyes.

Shaking her head, Wilhelmina explained, "No. I never saw the copper 'til Sam showed me."

"I doubt he'll show signs of it for months. Maybe years," Sam added.

"But we're gonna find a cure before it comes out," Wilhelmina pressed, glancing up at him.

"That's right," he agreed, nodding.

Dean watched the entire conversation in silence, as did Castiel, and he knew they both felt reservations about Charlie's need to overcome her fears without them with her. She certainly proved herself brave over and over again, but he wondered to himself if it wasn't an attempt at keeping Sam in her good graces. Everyone knew how he felt about Wilhelmina and his first reaction to people questioning her usually entailed going on the defensive.

"Why don't you spend some time with him while we're still here before you decide to keep him alone for a weekend?" suggested Dean in a sharply protective tone. "Just make sure you really wanna do it."

"Yeah," Wilhelmina chimed in with a nod. "Would you like to hold him?"

And that was the night Charlie attempted to befriend a half-demon baby.


	30. Demon Studies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Leaving Charlie in Maine to babysit Logan, the Winchester brothers bring Castiel and Wilhelmina to New York City. There, they pose as mythology authors to interview an NYU professor claiming to be an expert in demonology. Maybe, just maybe the professor will know something about the new King of the Incubi and the Queen of the Succubi for Castiel to finally get the edge and kill them. Wilhelmina goes with every intention of finding a cure for her half-demon infant. What they learn surprises all of them.

"You sure 'bout this?" Dean asked discreetly as Charlie balanced baby Logan on her thin frame.

"Yup," she replied with a sturdy nod. "Gotta get back on the horse when you get thrown, you know?"

"Yeah, I know but--"

"--Dean," she interrupted, her hand raised to silence him. "It's really fine. He's just a baby. It's not his fault and as long as he doesn't do the eye thing, I'm cool. Somebody's gotta watch him so you guys can get some real answers and put a stop to all this crap. Might as well be me. Gotta pull my weight too." She dipped her knees and hoisted up the boy higher on her hip. "We'll watch all the Harry Potter movies, eat some smashed carrots or whatever, and it'll be easy."

"Okay," he acquiesced reluctantly, "but you call if you need anything."

The obnoxious car horn broke up their conversation. "Come on, Dean! Let's go!" shouted Sam behind the wheel. Wilhelmina flopped into the passenger seat and Castiel sat in the backseat.

"You're gonna miss your train," Charlie said. She offered a lopsided smile.

Dean clamped one arm around Charlie's waist without squishing Logan and gave her a quick squeeze. "Bye," he said, pecking her forehead.

*****

The entire building smelled of musty old books. His suit itched and he'd never seen Wilhelmina look so conservative in sheer pantyhose and a ladylike business suit of her own. Only Castiel and Sam looked like they belonged in suits and in an academic situation. The entire thing felt like a huge lie, which told Dean they were _exactly_ where they needed to be. It felt like the old days.

"Being in the psychology department of anything gives me the heebee jeebees," Dean mumbled as they came to the professor's office.

Sam snickered. "Afraid you're gonna get locked up?"

"Shut up," he retorted under his breath.

"Dean is remarkably well-adjusted considering everything he's been through," commented Castiel in his dry, overly obvious manner reminiscent of his angelic existence. "It's perhaps even more remarkable that Sam came back from multiple relapses of demon blood addiction and now embraces a relatively normal life." He blinked as if a thought smacked him on the forehead. "Oh ... did you tell...?"

"I know about everything," Wilhelmina said absently as if it was the last thing on her mind. She clearly didn't care about Sam's history.

Taking the initiative impressed Dean, as much as he was loathed to admit it to himself. He'd always greeted Wilhelmina with indifference and never considered her as a great match for his brother - certainly not like Jess - but she strolled right up to the professor's secretary and lied through her teeth. She was a natural at Winchester life. They were led right into the professor's office, having had an appointment for days. The appointment had been Wilhelmina's idea too - a guarantee of having the conversation they needed.

The office resembled a museum of ancient history. Dean recognized everything from old voodoo dolls to stone carved figures of gods and goddesses from every culture he'd seen in his life. The more powerful items were encased in wood and glass. At least the professor had the good sense to--

"Good afternoon, gentlemen and madam," a lady Dean took as the professor greeted with a nod and a smile for Wilhelmina as if women should automatically bond in the academic world. "I am Professor Nadira Zaman. I understand you're all jointly writing a book about - what is it - demonology in the ancient world?"

"Yes," Sam replied as he shook her hand. "I'm Paul Soule. This is Michael Soule, Nicholas King, and Meredith Shaw."

"Pleasure," said the professor. "Please, have a seat. What can I do for you?"

In another life, Dean probably would have been into that whole Mrs. Robinson thing happening there. Black hair tumbled neatly beneath her shoulders and he couldn't find a single flaw in her dark caramel skin. Lines around her full berry lips and bright chocolate eyes suggested she was middle-aged but gracefully so. Even her deep, throaty voice enticingly hugged her Arabic accent. Still, as beautiful as she was, Dean found Castiel ten times more appetizing. It must have been real love.

_Jesus Christ. Focus, Dean. Quit thinking like a pussy._

"What do you know about succubi and incubi?" Sam asked with a notebook balanced on his thigh.

The question flickered in Professor Zaman's eyes. She wasn't expecting that topic. "Well," she replied, collecting herself, "they're thought to be rather lower level in the demonic hierarchy, although they can be found in nearly all ancient cultures. The word succubus comes from succuba, a Latin word meaning paramour, because these demons feed on the energies of human males through sexual congress. Sometimes the encounters occur in dreams and sometimes succubi take on human female forms. Repeated encounters are said to drain the good health of a man until he becomes too ill to survive. It's virtually the same process for women with incubi."

Castiel shifted in the chair beside Dean and stroked his goatee, a nervous habit of late. Dean fought the urge to offer him a comforting touch. Not in front of a scholar though. They had to blend in and remain professional, not attract unwanted attention. She couldn't know that Castiel had, in fact, been attacked by a succubus in an attempted possession that permanently damaged from it.

"Do you know anything about demons called Laradima or Modeseus?" probed Sam further.

"Where did you get those names?" she answered, her fingertips flexing into the arm of her chair. "You certainly have done your research. I'm quite impressed."

Dean's eyes narrowed, realizing the subtle twitches in her hand muscles pointed to fear. She wasn't just a scholar. She'd encountered demons before somewhere along the way.

"The names kept popping up in our lore materials," Sam lied coolly.

"Interesting. I've only seen those names in pre-Islamic mythology. Older than Christianity." Professor Zaman didn't seem to buy Sam's explanation but she never betrayed her professional veneer. Thin wrinkles sharpened around her eyes as she made a study of Sam, eventually rising from her chair. She drifted to the far office window overlooking Manhattan. "Laradima and Modeseus are shaytans. I don't know much more than that about them."

"I thought Shaytan was just another name for Lucifer," Dean said.

"No." Without looking back at them, Professor Zaman shook her head and hugged herself as she spoke. "The shaytan are from djinns and are quite fearsome. They're a type of demon, as you might say. The one you call Lucifer was, according to the ancient Islamic texts, a shaytan known as Iblis. The stories are virtually the same and they are undoubtedly the same entity with different cultural names. The djinns are thought to be a demon species all on their own, much like the succubi and incubi."

Both Sam and Dean exchanged rather confused looks, and then Sam asked, "So a djinn isn't like a genie?"

"Mistranslation and misinterpretation by Western society," she replied.

"Do you know how to kill a shaytan?" came Castiel's question.

Chuckling darkly, Professor Zaman returned to the group and lowered herself back into her chair again. "Demons cannot be killed. Certainly there have been rumors of demon hunters over the centuries but I found no proof in my world travels."

Again, the Winchesters glanced at each other and suppressed chuckles. Really, they sought out that woman as a demonology expert but she didn't even know demon hunters actually existed.

On the other side of Sam, a stony face and a sleek ponytail gave nothing away of Wilhelmina's years of control by an incubus. "Have you ever heard of these low level demons attempting to breed with humans?" she asked as she scribbled in her own notebook.

"Nephilim," replied Professor Zaman.

"Nephilim are the products of _angels_ breeding with humans," Castiel corrected matter-of-factly.

The professor looked his way, brows dropping into a faintly deeper slope. "To be clear, no one knows for certain what nephilim are," she said without emotion. "Some say they're half-angels and others say they're half-demons but nobody has ever actually encountered one in our lifetime."

"They're half-angels, I assure you," Castiel reiterated, completely unaware that he sounded arrogant and assumptive when he simply knew an error in mythology when he saw one.

Wilhelmina pushed the conversation back on track. "Has there been evidence of half-demon children?"

"Yes, in fact, many believe the antichrist is half-human and half-demon. These beings are far more dangerous than full demons because they not only possess demonic powers but they're far more prone to impulses and emotional whims of human nature. Full demons typically obey their kings and queens but the ones of half-human blood cannot ignore the free will in them."

"I see." Wilhelmina's monotone voice gave nothing away as she scribbled in her notebook.

Caution edged Sam's voice. "Do you know - has there been any texts found about curing children bred from humans and demons?"

The professor delved into the resources stored in her mind. "I cannot think of any tangible sources that say anything about it, but there _is_ an oral tradition. Several cultures cite divine waters as a means to ridding the body of impurities. Demonic blood could certainly be interpreted as a toxin and theoretically removed from affected individuals."

For the first time, a flicker of emotion cracked the cool reserve of Wilhelmina's face. Hope made her look beautiful. Dean had never seen her that way, but he suddenly appreciated what Sam recognized in her.

"Could you, um," Sam began, trying not to look like a prospector with a five pound gold nugget, "could you possibly write down what you know about these divine waters?"

Professor Zaman nodded. "Of course. I must say, this sounds like a highly specialized book. A rather select audience."

*****

It really was the old days. The Winchester brothers, Castiel, and Wilhelmina found a bar to decompress and chow down after a day of investigation. Castiel refused to sit down at any bar unless they had cheeseburgers or pizza on the menu. Away from home, he decided, a break from the healthy diet Dean pushed on him wasn't necessary. He was allowed to have a junk food break. He was really human now.

"Out of town and I still end up serving beer," joked Wilhelmina, approaching with four glass mugs. "Hold on. Pizza's up." And she disappeared into the crowd again, unhappy with waiting for slow waitresses.

"I'm going to the library tomorrow. The big one," Sam announced.

A chuckle fell into Dean's beer mug. "Do you just go to every library in every city for fun?"

"I might." His brother smirked at him between swigs from his own beer.

"Jesus. We really need to find you some titty bars," mumbled Dean, forever poking fun at Sam. Beside him, the icy jealousy and possessiveness in Castiel's stare pulled his attention. He smirked. "I didn't say I was gonna look."

"Uh-huh. You're a bad liar, Dean," Castiel said.

"So are you," added Dean, patting his thigh under the table.

Pizza appeared at the center of their round, crooked bar table and Wilhelmina finally felt satisfied enough to sit down with them instead of barking at the bartender about slow service. She had a point though. They would have waited more than an hour for their food judging by the tables around them.

"You coming with me to the library tomorrow?" Sam asked her.

"Yep," she replied, nodding.

"What, you think the New York Public Library has a book called Ganking Demon Royalty?" It seemed like a fruitless and expensive cab ride to Dean, honestly, but his brother had always relied on books.

Sam shook his head. "No, but you'd be surprised at how useful mythology sections are at these big libraries. For starters, we need to figure out why and how these shaytan things became leaders of succubi and incubi, which are apparently entirely different breeds of demons. It sounds weird to me. And if Professor Zaman didn't know how to kill them, maybe someone else along the way had some luck."

"And I'm gonna dig as much as I can for stuff about purification rituals and divine waters," said Wilhelmina. She glanced around at each of the men at her table, dark eyes shining with renewed life. "I think we can do this, guys. We're gonna get those sons of bitches."


	31. The Queen's Cult

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A new day in Manhattan finds Castiel too worn down to investigate anything with Dean, Sam, and Wilhelmina. Something about the demonology interview with Professor Zaman at NYU has left Dean unsettled, so he leaves Castiel to sleep in peace and breaks into her apartment. He never expected what he finds there. What does she really know about the Queen of the Succubi?

Castiel nearly missed his morning pills. Police sirens outside the Manhattan hotel woke Dean in time and he climbed out of bed for his former angel's overnight bag. He popped the AM square in Castiel's pillbox and retrieved a stupidly overpriced orange juice from the minibar.

"Cas," he said, sitting on the edge of the bed. "C'mon, up and at 'em. Almost missed your meds."

Low, rumbling protests groaned around Castiel's chest. He rolled over facing Dean and the heel of his hand dug into the mattress and propelled him somewhat upright. Dean dropped the pills into his hand and gave him the orange juice, but as he noticed the dark circles under Castiel's eyes, he got worried.

"You're si--"

"--I'm not sick, Dean. I'm just run down. Tired. Yesterday was a lot of walking in the rain." He swallowed more orange juice and rubbed his eyes, consumed by lethargy.

Still, Dean couldn't take any chances. His hands slid around Castiel's jaw, tipping his face closer, and he pressed his lips to his forehead. It had been the way his mother checked him for a fever when he was a boy. He remembered it because her light, airy perfume clung to his consciousness all those years later.

"You feel a little warm. Not bad," Dean said. "Maybe you should stay in bed today." He knew immediately that Castiel didn't feel too hot when he flopped back on his pillow and didn't argue. "I'll be back to check on you at lunchtime."

"Where are you going?" Castiel asked.

"Gotta help Sammy at the library."

Of course, Dean lied. He had a completely different plan for the day but the last thing he needed was Castiel worrying about him. And he really didn't need a guilt trip about doing something dangerous from someone who looked so pitiful and worn down there in a hotel room bed. So, for Castiel's own good, he lied. He bent, kissing Castiel, and then stood to get dressed.

"I'll be okay by lunchtime," he said.

"No rush." Dean shrugged. "We got it."

*****

The second Dean left Castiel to sleep in their motel room, he wanted to go back and sit with him, but the nagging sense of something being  _off_ just wouldn't let him. He shouldered his way through Manhattan pedestrians on his way north to the Upper East Side. Getting the address had been as easy as hacking into the DMV.

No, Dean wasn't headed to the library with Sam and Wilhelmina. He made his way to Professor Zaman's apartment building with the overpowering sense that she had something to hide. He couldn't quite put his finger on it though. There was something defensive in her posture during the demonology interview the day before that suggested much more than just a scholarly interest. If she knew more about demons than she let on, he sure as hell intended to figure it out, especially if it meant helping Castiel kill the King of the Incubi and the Queen of the Succubi.

Manhattan suited Dean. He thought so, absently, as he shrugged his leather jacket's collar up around his neck. The city marinated in honesty and resisted fake smiles and smalltalk. Gritty neighborhoods probably should have made him nervous but people weren't the enemy to hunters.

It wasn't until the streets became more manicured and wider did Dean get nervous. The Upper East Side clearly had a population barrier between the rich and the poor. He never trusted people with money.

Professor Zaman occupied three floors in the southeast corner of an impressive white stone building. Immediately, Dean wondered exactly how much NYU professors got paid because he certainly didn't think she should be able to afford such an affluent address. As he rode the elevator about two-thirds of the way to the top, he entertained ideas that perhaps she made a deal and she was on Hell's VIP list.

Nobody answered the door just as Dean hoped. His first plan was to get into her apartment under the pretense of followup questions for the supposed book they were writing. The second plan--which was much more fun for a hunter--involved picking her lock and poking around the place on his own.

It felt like the old days again.

The professor's apartment resembled much more of a mansion contained in a skyscraper than the apartments back home. Marble fireplaces in many of the rooms probably cost more than his parents' home in Lawrence. It definitely pointed to immense wealth, including a vast collection of archaeology material that any museum would die to acquire. Her office at NYU had been impressive but her home blew his mind in the sheer amount of idols, talismans, statues, charms, figurines, and everything else pertaining to ancient pantheons.

Despite the unnatural wealth for a professor, nothing else really stuck out to him as out of the ordinary. He nearly gave up and left until a figurine caught his eye in a glass display case with others like it in the dining room. Squinting at the plaque just beside it, he realized that he'd been right all along. She knew things that she'd pretended not to understand in their meeting.

_Stone figurine depicting Queen Naamah of the Succubi. Assyrian Empire. 3rd century, A.D. Reigning Queen of the Succubi overthrown and banished from Hell after three thousand years on the throne. Usurped by her handmaiden, Laradima, in the early twentieth century._

Dean didn't think twice. He popped open the cabinet lock easily with his pick and stuffed the stone figure in his inner breast pocket along with the plaque describing her. People were apparently worshipping Naamah as a goddess rather than a low level demon before her banishment. No wonder her head swelled and she decided it was a great idea to try and breed with angels and humans, as Rhiannon had described. If the new Queen Laradima had been a simple handmaiden, there may be some advantage in that--a weak spot in her ego that they could exploit. His mind spun.

So Professor Zaman hadn't told them everything she knew after all. Dean barely gave himself a moment to congratulate himself on still having a hunter's instinct as he made his way through the upper floor. Eyes narrowed, he searched everything for more signs of the battling queens. A few more figurines of Naamah ended up in his jacket pockets, making him look a bit lumpy.

As he searched for entrance to the lower floor of her apartment, he found a book about conjuring left open to a demon page. It didn't seem all that strange for one of the world's so-called leading experts in demonology but Dean didn't trust anything at that point.

Finally, he found a bookshelf doubling as a fake door that led to a downward stairwell. He chuckled at the absurd cliche appearance of it all and felt like he stumbled into Clue. But all humor left him as he reached the bottom of the stairs, arriving in one massive room--dimly lit and surrounded by the image he now recognized as the former Queen Naamah. A satanic pentagram stretched fifteen feet wide on the floor, flanked by two eight foot statues of the old demon queen that, Dean guessed, were originals and not reproductions. It suddenly became clear to him that in ancient times, there had been a cult worshipping Naamah as there had been with other alleged deities. Professor Zaman still worshipped the old queen.

"Holy shit...." he mumbled, jaw dropped to his chest.

*****

"Sa--I mean Paul!" Dean barked across the library once he spotted his brother and Wilhelmina at the end of a table.

The minute Sam realized the obnoxious voice yelled for  _him_ , the poor guy looked like he wanted to hide behind his stack of books. He glowered at Dean and sharply shook his head.

"Okay, okay, sorry. Book people don't raise their voices," Dean replied in a snarky tone as he plopped into the chair across from his brother.

Wilhelmina leaned on her elbow and turned the page in her book. "Where's your hubby?"

Sobering instantly, Dean's gaze fell for just a moment. "He's at the hotel. Said he was too tired to be useful this morning. I'm gonna go see if he wants to eat with us soon."

"Is he okay?" asked Sam.

"Yeah, I think so." But honestly, Dean didn't know. A sense of being cornered crept in around him as it always did where Castiel's condition was concerned. Abruptly, he diverted the topic. "I broke into Professor Zaman's apartment. That's where I was this morning. And--" he said as he yanked a Naamah figure from his coat, "--she lied through her teeth."

"What the hell is that?" Seeing a harmless stone figurine of a seductive female body with a goat head frightened Wilhelmina and her chair shot backwards a few feet.

"Queen Naamah in her prime," replied Dean. "Kinda hairy on the face but the body's not bad."

Curious, Sam plucked the figure off the table for a closer look. "Isn't this the succubus that Rhiannon had in her grandmother's journals?"

"Yup." Dean nodded and lined up several more versions of the demon queen from different ancient empires, all stashed in his coat. "Our professor friend has this chick all over her apartment. Just short of posters on the walls like a Justin Bieber nutjob. I swiped these from four different rooms. Apparently this chick was the last queen who ruled for like three thousand years. Then she got too grabby for power, someone in Hell ousted her, banished her, and her handmaiden rose up to claim the throne."

"Laradima," surmised Wilhelmina, pushing herself closer in spite of her fear of all things demonic.

"That'd be the one," Dean said. "Looks like Naamah had a cult in her own time. People worshipped her whether she was in bed with the devil or not, kinda like a damn Kardashian today."

The pieces began falling into place in Sam's mind and he nodded. "So Professor Zaman must be sucked into the cult."

"There was a whole floor set up like one of those cliche black mass things in movies and Naamah's statue was everywhere. Big pentagram on the floor. The works." Shaking his head, Dean glanced at the stone figures lined up on the table.

Wilhelmina shook her head too. "She's a professor. She's supposed to be intelligent. How can she get sucked into a dead cult worshipping an overthrown demon queen?"

"You'd be surprised at how remarkably stupid people can be," said Sam, trading one figure for another. "But this will help us. It's a lot easier to trace the history of a cult than it is to trace an inhuman entity. Still, you shouldn't have broken into her apartment without backup." He eyed Dean, silently scolding him.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah." The older brother waved a dismissive hand. "We're on a time crunch here. You find anything about sacred waters?"

The question brought new perkiness to Wilhelmina's dark features as she handed Dean a book opened to a map and old images of a cave. "This place. Eureka Springs, Arkansas. People have been healed of various things in the Basin Spring there for hundreds of years. White folks and Indians. Of all the springs and caves I've read about, this one has the most documented success stories in America. The Ozarks in general are a holy place to all the Indian nations around there. They fought over the Basin Spring in particular."

Sam added, "It's a massive vortex."

Then Dean understood and he nodded.

"I think it's our best shot," Wilhelmina said. "If it works for Logan, then we can find a way to bring more afflicted children to the springs."


	32. Don't You Wanna Stay

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Winchesters' last night in New York leaves them no closer to finding the King of the Incubi and the Queen of the Succubi, but they consider it a victory that they have a lead in curing the half-demon children of their affliction. While Dean keeps watch over Castiel's sickness, the former angel makes a stern declaration about living with his immunodeficiency. And after months of restraining himself for her sake, Sam is finally rewarded when Wilhelmina opens up to him. The family boards a train home the next day and endures the unexpected visit of one of their biggest enemies, making an offer they may not be able to refuse.

Sam never could seem to scrub off the grime of subways and taxis, which made him realize that he actually missed Maine. He went through a whole little hotel shampoo bottle and scrubbed the bar of soap down to a nub. Yeah. He definitely missed the smell of the ocean rolling into Portland.

The second he stepped out of the shower, he realized he left his clean clothes by the mini refrigerator. Damn it. It seemed a little orchestrated to him with Wilhelmina out there watching a movie. So convenient to strut out of the bathroom in a towel, right?

Suck it up, Sam.

He tied the towel securely around his waist and tossed fingers through his sopping hair. Ducking out of the bathroom, he preemptively muttered a series of, "Sorry, forgot my clothes," apologies to his feral kitten. There hadn't even been a kiss yet--only unspoken cuddling in bed when no one watched them at night. "Find a good movie?" Shit. Where the hell was that t-shirt?

"Sommersby," she said.

That one again. "Aren't you tired of it yet? You find it on TV whenever it's on."

"No, I like it. My life's a little too real lately. I need the sap."

Sam finally found his shirt jammed between two upright suitcases. He grabbed it and righted himself, headed back to the bathroom, but she climbed off her bed and stopped him. More like blocked his path. She hesitated and pursed her lips together hard as if internally berating herself for not pushing something out. Her dark eyes flickered up to his face and down to the floor again. A hand flattened on the wall, red nails tapping the faded paint.

"Can I get dressed?" asked Sam with a smirk, hoping to diffuse the tension with a touch of humor.

"Sam...."

His face tilted. "What?"

Wilhelmina's eyes softened and for a moment he thought she might cry. She stepped forward with just as much determination as hesitation, which infused her limbs with an awkwardness he hadn't seen in her until then. Red nails let go of the wall and faint fingertips met the middle of his chest. Though she didn't seem to know exactly how, something in her told him that she tried to be soft, to be tender, instead of the ball busting fighter he already knew.

Eyes turned up to his and he let her forage ahead with it on her own. She seemed to need that control, at least for a while until she felt completely safe again.

Yet Sam couldn't resist. He stretched a hand along the line of her jaw into the long hair tumbling over her shoulders. The feral kitten closed her eyes, dreamy and slow, tilting her head into the warmth of his hand. His thumb passed over her cheekbone and she opened her eyes again, changed. He couldn't find words for it but the slightest shift from within chipped away at the block around her heart. A lady looked back at him--not that she hadn't been one before but vulnerability seeped into her dark eyes. So did a real sense of attachment that he'd imagined before but hadn't quite seen. She felt for him. She cared for him the way a woman cared for a man and he felt it down in his knees.

Bare feet with red painted toes lifted her higher, propelling her face toward his. If anyone had tried to convince him that first kisses happened in slow motion when they really meant something, he would have laughed, but there, he had time to see the little flick of her tongue over her lips as they parted. One hand splayed over his naked shoulder and the other curved around the back of his waist. It felt as if she tried to hold herself upright as much as holding onto him.

Sam didn't know how long the kiss lasted. It could have been days for all he knew and he would have been happy to let it go that long. She tasted fresh and natural with a hint of sweetness and faint toothpaste. He pulled her close by the waist, pressed together without demanding more, and he nearly lifted her off the floor. Months of concealing his feelings for her broke loose and he realized he finally found the real woman underneath it all. She was as tender as she was tough, and as capable of love as she was capable of anger.

"I waited a long time for that," he whispered breathlessly once they parted for breath.

"I know," she whispered in return, fingertips brushing his lips. Her forehead rested against his as he held her up against him. "You're the only one who ever waited. I didn't know what to do with that."

"Real men don't force women--or other men, for that matter--when they're obviously not ready," he replied in a private, tender tone. "You're worth the wait."

*****

Six doors down, Castiel had developed a cough.

Dean came into the hotel room looking strange in sweatpants, a t-shirt, and his leather jacket, carrying a plastic bag from the drugstore. He threw the keys on the dresser and rounded the bed to Castiel's side, where the former angel sat against the headboard flipping television channels.

"I think a chick in the drugstore thought I was a hobo," said Dean, smirking.

At least that got a smile out of Castiel. He said earlier in the afternoon that he felt like he failed all of them by getting sick on such an important research tip. It wasn't true, of course, but Dean reminded himself that he'd gone from a multidimensional wavelength of celestial intent to a human with an immunodeficiency in less than a year. It was a lot to take. If anything, Castiel's condition and Dean's desire to make it better every day taught him a lot about his depths of patience.

"Okay," began Dean, unloading his shopping bag, "off with the shirt. This gooey stuff gets rubbed on your chest and it'll open up all that congestion. If that doesn't knock it loose, we've got this pill here to make you cough up everything clogging up your lungs. I got a bottle of Motrin too. Oh and more orange juice and Gatorade."

"You could be a nurse," chuckled Castiel, which sent him into a new coughing fit as he stripped off his shirt.

He sounded happier than he had when Dean left for the drugstore. At least there was that. Dean rubbed cream between his hands like the jar instructed and spread it over Castiel's chest. Of course, the former angel could have done it himself but something in the hunter needed to feel like he had some control over the immunodeficiency. The truth was he blamed himself for putting Castiel in that position in the first place.

Then he opened the orange juice and popped a few pills from the bottle. "Okay, open the hatch."

"Dean, I can take care of myself," he protested.

"Just let me," Dean argued softly.

A hand grabbed his wrist. "It's only a cold. A little irritating virus."

"Nothing's ever a little irritating virus with you, Cas. Not anymore." It pained Dean to say it out loud. He shook free of Castiel's grip and presented the Motrin pills in the palm of his hand again. The smallness of his voice surprised him as he confessed, "Please, just let me look after you. I ... I need to."

The former angel observe him intently for a moment. He nodded and relented. Tense silence passed as he swallowed the pills and drank half the orange juice in one shot.

"At least me being sick makes you eat better too," Castiel replied with a little smile. "But, Dean, this is just a little virus. I'll call in sick to school Monday and rest, but I'm not going to let this disrupt my life over and over again. If it becomes more than a little virus, then we can worry. Until then? It's just a cold. Everybody gets colds and this is part of my introduction to humanity. I feel like shit, as you would say, but I can take it. My immunodeficiency isn't going to have more control over my life than I'm willing to give it."

Dean held his hand and absorbed his strength, though anyone else would never have been allowed to see that vulnerability. "You don't deserve this," he murmured thoughtfully.

"No one does," Castiel replied. He smiled though. "Are you always so melancholic about colds, love?"

"Smart ass." Dean shared a smile with him.

*****

All of them seemed relieved to board the train home on Sunday afternoon. No one said so, of course, but each of them realized in their own ways that they considered Maine home. Nothing would ever replace Kansas, but there was something about a place completely foreign to them before that they carved out into a comfortable life. They actually had friends. No, not a single one of them said so, but they were glad to go home again.

Dean observed his brother across from him. Their train seats faced each other for conversation on the long journey, he guessed, but Sam watched the scenery whiz by the window. That wasn't the odd part. What had Dean transfixed was Wilhelmina curled up in a sleepy ball, leaning on Sam's shoulder with her arms bound around his elbow. His hand rested on her thigh and from time to time, his thumb lazily stroked her jeans. Something changed between yesterday at the library to that sleepy morning over muffins and coffee. She hadn't been able to eat without keeping an arm latched onto some part of his brother. The coldness in her demeanor thawed overnight but he couldn't figure out why or how.

The lump across Dean's lap shifted. His eyes fell to Castiel sleeping fitfully across his thighs. A hand swept over the former angel's forehead and down his cheek, always vigilantly keeping watch for fevers. So far he was okay--a cold clogged his chest, but he hadn't gotten any worse. He just felt miserable.

Wilhelmina popped open like a spring and dug through her black leather purse sharing the seat. She swiped her iPhone, a smile blooming on her lips.

"There's a powwow next weekend up north. My sister asked if we're going." Her eyes darted around each of them. "Do you guys wanna come? I mean I have to go. It's a family thing. My granny hasn't seen Logan since he was born. But you guys should come with us too, especially you." A subtle smile turned up toward Sam by her side.

"Sure, I'll go," agreed Sam with a shrug.

"What's it about?" Dean ventured.

"Dancing competition, singing, food, all that stuff. Not so commercial as others. This one's not advertised so there won't be tourists."

The older brother looked to the younger one with a silent question and then he asked her out loud. "You sure it's okay? I mean, we're all white dudes. Don't wanna get you more unwanted attention than you might get soon."

"It's fine," she assured them. "I don't live in the community anymore so they kinda expect this of me."

A hand unfolded from Castiel's chest. "I'd like to go and listen to the singing."

"Okay, cool." Everything decided, Wilhelmina's fingers flew over her phone. Presumably she texted home and made plans to bring her new boyfriend's family home to meet her blood family.

"Hello, boys."

The interruption, the voice, the _accent_ jolted Dean from within even before his brain caught up and recognized the intruder. Revulsion and a scowl creased his face as it did Sam's at the sight of Crowley appearing in a seat across the aisle from them. Castiel immediately sat up despite being sick, as if he could help them fight. But Crowley merely sat there with a clever, lopsided smile.

"What do you want, Crowley?" Dean snarled.

His tone made Wilhelmina panic. "Who's this? What's going on here?"

"Crowley, love. King of Hell." The old demon salesman offered a charming nod at the lady and seemed to relish in her growing panic as she grabbed Sam's leg. "Well chosen, Moose. I doubt I could have done better. Well, as a man. Now I could have anything I want. Which reminds me--what's your name, darling?"

She recoiled into Sam, who snatched a protective arm around her. "What the hell do you want?"

"Well, I was sitting in Tahiti thinking I haven't had any Moose and Squirrel adventures in quite a while," he replied in that overly charming, crisp accent. "I heard gossip that the angels have a bounty on Cas' head. Oh, hello, Cas. Not looking too hot, are you?"

Castiel said nothing but Dean felt his chest rattling as they sat so close together.

"I'm here to make a deal, boys," the demon king continued. "You want something. I want something. That something ends with all of us walking away richer men. So this is what I propose. I'll tell you what you need to know about the King of the Incubi and the Queen of the Succubi. I'll even tell you where to find them. You get the job done and we all go home happy."

Dean, Sam, and Castiel all exchanged suspicious eyes, while poor Wilhelmina stared at Crowley as if he might turn into a red, scaly monster at any second. Not one of them trusted what Crowley said but Dean couldn't figure out why he was willing to betray his fellow hell creatures and allow them to be assassinated. His eyes narrowed, making a study of the demon king.

"What's in it for you?" he demanded.

Crowley's chuckle hit a similar tone to the train rumbling around them. "They're a PR disaster. A nightmare! Breeding with humans by force? It does nothing for Hell's image. What we sell is all a matter of free will, my dear boy. What will happen to our collective demonic reputation when people feel like they no longer have a choice? Our contracts are only valid because people say yes. All sales are final. No refunds. A good demon knows how to sell it without cramming it down people's throats." He smiled again. "No one will make deals if they find out Hell has been raping and pillaging. Souls are our currency. I'm looking out for the economic viability of my kingdom."

"And your own crown," added Sam with a bitter eye roll.

Crowley lifted his hands and raised his eyebrows, admitting it. "You're not as dumb as you look, Moose. There are indeed too many tiaras in the ballroom. A good king goes on the defensive to protect his crown."

That made Dean laugh loudly from his gut. He couldn't believe it. "So you wanna help us kill that King and Queen to make _you_ look better."

"Is there a problem?" Crowley's face hardened. He went from a wicked playboy to a copperhead snake in a matter of seconds. "Refuse my help and your blue-eyed boy here dies at the hands of his own kind who rejected him. Refuse my help and you'll never find the King and Queen. If you did stumble on them by some measure of luck, they'll wear your skin like dresses before you ever get close enough to take a shot because you don't have a clue of how to kill them."

"We've saved the world with nothing bef--"

"--One more thing," Crowley announced over Dean, a bottle of shimmering translucent blue liquid materializing in his hand. "I have the cure. Your lovely little plan about hiking through the Ozarks and dunking your wee ones into mystical waters won't work without this magic anti-demon serum." He smirked and closed his hand around the bottle. "Though I couldn't imagine why you'd want to remove such a strong quality from a child. But the option is here if you want it."

"Bullshit. How do we know that isn't some bottle of colored water?" Sam spat. It was one thing to challenge the Winchesters or even Castiel, but it was quite another to drag his girlfriend into it. Rightfully so, it was a terrifying prospect for him given his past.

Wilhelmina spun back to him with equal measures of fear and hope in her eyes. "Sam, what if--"

"--Take a sample." Crowley chucked a second, smaller bottle at Sam but Wilhelmina caught it. "Take this little dove's offspring to the Ozarks and rub this oil on his stomach, forehead, and hands whilst you bathe him in the waters."

"You're joking," Dean muttered.

"Once the little bugger's cured and you're ready to deal, summon me. Good day, gentlemen. Madam."

The demon Crowley disappeared as if the entire thing never happened. Except Wilhelmina say beside Sam looking at the bottle in her hands with huge eyes. Bigger than Dean thought she was capable of showing, but there it was in front of him. Dangling the prize of curing her son of his demonic heritage left her at Crowley's mercy. That old buzzard certainly knew that just as he knew Sam would never refuse her the one thing she wanted above all else.

"Sam...."

Delicately, Sam took the bottle and squeezed her close. "We don't know what this is," he murmured as if she was too fragile to hear it at full strength.

"Someone has to know." She looked up at him in desperation. "We have to try."

"I don't like this," added Dean.

Castiel said, "Perhaps the old adage is true in this case. Keep your friends close but keep your enemies closer."


	33. What You're Really Made Of

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Uncertainty about Crowley's proposal leaves the Winchesters in limbo while Charlie tries to track down the validity of the alleged demon cure. Dean goes to pick Castiel up from his job as a preschool teacher's assistant in the meantime and witnesses the former angel thriving there, which leads him into a new, unexpected sense of pride. It's such a strange thing to see Castiel worrying about everyday things like his disabled student rather than an oncoming apocalypse or fallen angels everywhere. Maybe, just maybe, Castiel is finding his real place in the world.

They hadn't lived together in months but the Winchester brothers still called each other three or four times a day. Sometimes for absolutely nothing. Sometimes for business. Dean felt good about the way things stood, having feared living apart would place an unwanted divide between them.

"You still got the demon cure, right?"

Dean chuckled. "When have I ever lost stuff important to cases?"

"The voodoo doll, the fertility statue, the haunted piano.... Remember that? You lost an entire piano. Your car on half a dozen cases at least--"

"--Okay, okay, shut up. Damn." Jesus, his brother never forgot anything. "I gave the demon juice to Charlie. She's doing research, trying to find out if there's any lore on curing the demon half of people. There's a small documentation trail. I guess half-demon people have been a thing for a while but she's taking charge for the kid. Looks like she got a little soft spot for him after babysitting all weekend." Dean fumbled with his umbrella and crossed the elementary school parking lot. "What's going on with you and Pocahontas anyway? She was stuck to you like a leech on the train."

"You've got to stop calling her Pocahontas if you're going up north with us." Sam took a deep breath. "Well, we're together ... kinda."

"Kinda?"

Hesitation, and then Sam admitted, "Your version of together and my version of together are different."

"Meaning you haven't slept with her," Dean said, filling in the blank. "Dude, you never could make the first move without weeks of brooding first. I'm the one who told you how to kiss a girl. Don't you remember anything about what I taught you?"

"Dean, this is different. This one's had nothing but dickwad men using her like a toy. I'm letting her be in control of when stuff happens. So far it's worked. It's taking time but it's happening. She started kissing me in New York and now she does that all the time, but she really just needs time," Sam explained a bit defensively. "At least it's not taking years like it did for you and Cas."

That stunned Dean. "You went this whole time without even a kiss? Damn, Sammy. Sounds like blue ball hell."

"Shut up," he retorted. "What's that noise? Where are you?"

"Cas' school. I don't want him to walk home in the rain. He stayed home Monday but his chest is still full of crap and it's Wednesday, so here I am, picking him up from school." He stood off to one far side of the building while the last of the busses pulled away, hoping he didn't look like a kid creeper.

"Geez, you think I'm whipped," joked Sam.

"At least I'm having regular sex," Dean retorted that time. "Really good sex."

"Ugh, stop it."

Chuckling, Dean went on. "Mind-blowing sex. I bet you could never guess how bendy Cas is. He does this thing--"

Fake retching sounds filled the other end of the line. "Damn it, Dean! I hate you."

"Yeah, I know you do. I gotta go." Dean smirked, quite proud of himself for successfully torturing his brother in another town. Some things never changed.

"Yeah, go pick up your boy from school."

"You're a dick," laughed Dean, ending the call.

A school after hours always seemed like it could be haunted to Dean, not that he spent much time in those places. He felt like a giant as he passed through hallways with open classroom doors filled with tiny empty desks. The tiniest ones had their own hallway around the corner from something called the multipurpose room. Long white tables folded against one of the walls suggested children ate lunch there.

Castiel worked in a double classroom with Jenna after the school knocked down a wall to create one large preschool class. It was more cost effective, they'd said, to have one teacher and one teacher's assistant rather than pay for two whole preschool classes.

He peered into the classroom first, feeling a bit out of place. Jenna sat at her desk in the far corner and the room appeared deserted until he turned for another vantage. There Castiel sat crosslegged on a floor mat placed in a cozy nook with tiny bean bag chairs and tiny bookshelves. An empty wheelchair--Barbie doll pink--stood nearby. Dean realized it must have been Castiel's new student on the mat with him, despite school having let out more than a half hour ago.

The former angel noticed Dean lurking around the classroom door and curled his hand, beckoning him inside. He smiled there on the floor with his little student.

"Hello, Mike," greeted Castiel. Dean would never get used to that name. Sometimes he really missed the surprise intrusions in the bathroom, the lack of personal space, and the throaty 'hello Dean'.

Jenna glanced up from her work at the desk. "Hey!"

"How's it going?" Yeah, Dean decided classrooms were never going to be comfortable places for him, yet Castiel appeared completely in his element having little ones to watch over and guide.

"Kayleigh," he said, "this is my friend, Mike."

Oh yeah, Dean shouldn't ignore the kid. He came closer and crouched near the mat with his hands laced together. The little girl turned her face toward him with considerable effort as if her tight muscles restricted her at every moment. Her hands never seemed to open and her limbs bent and jerked rather than moving with the effortless fluidity that his body enjoyed. It didn't seem like she could completely unfold her legs either, yet she formed a bright smile and her eyes sparkled with life. Words tried to come out that sounded like a hello and he offered a wave with a smile of his own.

"Try again," Castiel encouraged kindly.

Kayleigh swallowed--a simple actioned that seemed like such a slow-motion process for her. She greeted him again with a clearer, yet sluggish, "Hi, Mike," as if forcing emphasis on her syllables.

"Hi," Dean said back, smiling.

"Good job," said Castiel. "See, you can use your words too."

The men glanced at each other over the little girl and Castiel's eyes told Dean the entire story. Nobody outside of the school took the time to work with her on developing better skills in speech and who knew what else. The former angel wasn't kidding when he explained to Dean before about how she had a spark of life in her that her parents didn't bother to nurture. Whether it was drugs or something else--Dean suddenly found the neglect of that little girl inexcusable after seeing it in person. He knew next to nothing about cerebral palsy but there had to be programs for kids like her.

"You know how your aunt picks you up from school? Mike picks me up from school too sometimes," Castiel told her. Then he looked up at Dean and explained, "Her aunt's late today so we're having a stretch while we wait. Being in the wheelchair too long causes pressure sores."

"Oh, okay." Dean nodded. He thought to himself just how fucking good Castiel was at his job already.

"Mr. Soule's missing his calling in special ed, huh Kayleigh?" piped up Jenna from her desk. "The kids can't quite say his name, and Soule-King is too long for them, so some of them say Mr. Soo-lee! Mr. Soo-lee! It's the funniest thing."

"Yeah, but Kayleigh's allowed to call me Nick. We're special friends. Isn't that right?"

Kayleigh's arms flailed and her muscles tightened up even more as if her body didn't know how to release an excited reaction. "Yeah," she said with a gaping smile.

"Are you ready to get back up in your chair?" Castiel asked her.

That sounded difficult and involved to Dean, though something told him to mask his unease. "You, uh, you need help?"

"No, we do this every day at story time," replied Castiel as he rose from the floor and moved the straps out of the way on her wheelchair.

"You've got a cool chair," Dean told her in his effort to be friendly without really knowing what to say. "I didn't know they came in colors. I bet pink's your favorite color, huh?"

The syllables she formed sounded like, "Yeah, and purple."

It honestly amazed Dean. He hadn't seen Castiel so collected and in control as a human man as he was with that child. A smooth swoop of Castiel's arms lifted Kayleigh off the mat, carrying her with an overhand grip around her legs and an underhand grip around her shoulders. He held her upright, striking Dean as a necessary gesture of not treating her like a baby. Castiel settled her into the wheelchair as if he'd done it since she was born. Then Dean stood up with the sense that he should do something. So, while Castiel straightened her dress and adjusted her straps, he retrieved her backpack from the floor.

By the time Kayleigh's aunt finally arrived, the little girl had charmed Dean into sharing a coloring book. To Castiel, it was another exercise to help her develop stronger fine motor skills, gripping her fingers around markers, but to Dean, it was a fantastic excuse to color in his mid-30s. The plexiglass lap tray clamped to the wheelchair was such a good idea that he never considered a necessity. Yet again there sat Castiel ready and willing with the things she needed to simply be a child.

"Bye, Kayleigh. It was nice to meet you," Dean said, stooping to hug her.

Still, Castiel remained cold and detached toward her aunt, saying, "I left another note for her mother in the yellow notebook. Please ask her to send a reply tomorrow. I need to get her permission slip signed for the field trip next week so I can order the wheelchair bus." Tension edged his words as if lack of communication with her mother had been an ongoing issue.

"Will do. Say bye, Kay-Kay!" replied her aunt in grating baby talk.

As they climbed into the Impala once Kayleigh went home, Dean revved the engine but he didn't pull away immediately. The hour he spent with Castiel in that classroom--it hit him right in the gut. It left him feeling ... what ... proud. Immensely proud. Emotional too, but goddamn it, he wasn't about to let that show. The bottom line was he saw Castiel in a new light and his love deepened right there in the school parking lot. Jesus, he wanted to puke at his own thoughts but they were there. They were real. So were the equal measures of love and respect he felt for Castiel, not that such sentiments were new, but they burrowed deeper into Dean's heart.

"Dean...?" questioned the former angel with a sideways eye.

"Sorry." He threw the Impala into reverse, hoping the moment would pass without further comment.

But as they drove around the peninsula toward home, Dean's sense of contentment shifted to concern the longer Castiel sat in silence. He watched the rain streak across the passenger window without a single word. Only his elbow resting on the door and his hand folded against his mouth, pensive.

"Talk to me," Dean murmured.

It took a moment for Castiel to collect his thoughts, it seemed. "Kayleigh needs more than she gets. Her family--they don't care the way they should and her mother almost never comes to school or keeps up with the notebook. School policy with nonverbal children is parents and teachers communicate through a daily log. I can only do so much. I try but--"

"--Cas, you do a shitload more than you think. Trust me. You know my dad wasn't around for school stuff. Hell, he wasn't around for home stuff either and I was always the one taking care of Sammy. But the thing I remember most about when he was a kid was how teachers gave him the adult attention he needed. He was always into school more than me because the teachers actually gave a crap. I was older. I knew I was headed for the hunter life. Sammy--he was little and still had hope. Kayleigh's little too and I'm betting you're making a big difference in her life. You're making a bigger impact than you think. Sammy still talks about teachers like you."

Though Castiel nodded, he still seemed riddled with guilt. "She's smart but nobody at home treats her that way. It's unsettling that I only have about six months to feed her hunger for learning. Then she'll go on to kindergarten and we don't know if those teachers will pet her like a doll or treat her like a child."

"So find a way to prove to her parents that she's worth more than they think," Dean urged with a hand upturned off the steering wheel. "Six months is better than nothing. You can turn it around for this kid."

Castiel's eyes cut across to Dean and the wheels in his mind turned. He nodded but he didn't say anything. He didn't have to. Dean knew his advice hit the mark and gave Castiel a direction to channel that anxious energy. Of course Dean wasn't an expert in kids--neither of them were--but in the hour that he spent with Kayleigh, he knew she was just as smart as the other kids in her class.

As he turned onto their street, rain pelting the car, he reached over and rubbed Castiel's thigh. "I'm really proud of you."

"Dean?" The former angel's face scrunched.

"I know, I know. I don't say shit like that but I didn't know what you were like at your job before today. You kick ass at it. This is really what you should be doing if you like it. And I think Jenna's right. You oughtta think about being a special ed teacher at some point. You have the touch, Cas." He glanced over at his one-time angel as he pulled into the driveway and saw a smile looking back at him. A subtle, thoughtful smile.

"Sometimes I think maybe I'm doing more good for humanity with this than being an angel," he admitted. "I wasn't very good at being an angel. I think I'm better at this."

"Cas, you're good at everything you try to do," Dean replied sincerely. "Except being God. That was an off couple of months but whatever."

Laughing at the absurdity of their history together, they bolted from the Impala and ducked through the rain into the house. Dean nearly ran straight into a blur of orange hair as soon as he got inside, while Castiel fell close behind and shoved into his back.

"You! Pick up the junk in the living room! You! Clean up that mess in the kitchen!" Charlie barked at each of them. "And don't pee on the toilet seat anymore! I just scrubbed the bathroom!"

Castiel peered at Dean over his shoulder, face soured. "You urinate on the toilet seat?"

"It's dark at night! I forget there's a girl here!" Eyeing the overflowing laundry basket in her hands, Dean asked, "What's with you?"

"Rhiannon's coming tomorrow to stay a while. You told me to find someone who might know something about the demon cure, so I did. She knew how to fix Cas. She knew a lot of stuff about this mess that you didn't. We're starting with her and if she doesn't know anything about it, I'll find someone who does." That said, Charlie resumed her trek to the little laundry nook attached to the kitchen. Delayed shouting found them over the washer. "Get busy on your chores or I'll make you watch Wonder Woman again!"

Smirking, Castiel patted Dean's lower back as he made his way toward the living room. "It's rather obvious that she wants to see Rhiannon badly too. Don't make that face, love. It's okay." Quiet reflection came over Castiel for a moment as his mind drifted. "You remember what it was like all those times we were separated." He turned back and left a heartfelt kiss on Dean's lips. "I carried you with me always, wherever I went, everything I did. I may not have known I loved you but now I do know it. I have a feeling Charlie feels this way about her."

"They barely know each other," Dean whispered, looping his arms around Castiel's waist.

Castiel seemed amused by that as he slung his arms around Dean's shoulders. "How much time is adequate? People can know each other for years or maybe even a whole lifetime and never really know each other intimately. Or they could have one encounter and know intimate secrets. Humans are beautiful and mysterious that way."

"Or a guy could blow a dozen lightbulbs, stroll into a barn, and not even flinch when he gets stabbed in the chest," said Dean with a suggestive smile. He dropped his voice to a low whisper. "Biggest turn-on in my life."

"Yeah, that too." Castiel's fingers curled into the short hair around the nape of Dean's neck and offered a nostalgic grin. "Just don't become too overprotective of her. It's a good thing that she wants to be with someone after being so violently attacked. It means it hasn't damaged her beyond repair. This is what we wanted for her."

"Okay," Dean agreed after a moment.

"And with some luck, Rhiannon will know what to do about the demon cure," offered Castiel in return. "She brought me back, didn't she?"

"For Wilhelmina's sake, I hope Crowley isn't playing some bullshit game. Getting her kid cured of the demon crap is what I'm thinking about right now. If it works, then we'll think about Crowley's deal. But don't think I trust that dick any further than I can throw him. Don't think that about me."

Castiel leaned in and kissed him again. "I know you better than that, Dean. We'll all figure it out together."

"Hey!" Charlie bellowed as she vacuumed the dining room rug. "I don't hear you cleaning!"

With a chuckle, Dean rolled his eyes. "Hark, fair Juliet speaks."


	34. Angelhunt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The morning Rhiannon returns to Maine, a disturbing news report shows angels without their vessels searching Maine for Castiel. It seems not all angels are willing to wait for him to kill the King of the Incubi and the Queen of the Succubi. The news hits Dean much harder than he expects and exposes his vulnerability in committing his life and heart to his angel. Struggling to keep himself focused, he puts together the weekly family dinner where Charlie makes an announcement that surprises everyone. Even more shocking is the ritual Rhiannon conducts in order to discover what's in the demon cure that Crowley gave them. Just when Dean thinks he knows Rhiannon, she stuns the hell out of him. But the real question is can he keep his nightmares of Hell under control while they hunt the demons?

"Downtown Portland and West End residents reported strange streaks of bluish-white light in the sky last night. Dozens of 911 calls sent the Portland Police Department to investigate but left officers just as uncertain as residents and business owners. Not long after the initial 911 calls, residents along the waterfront began reporting the same phenomena. As of this morning, the Portland sheriff's office gave no official statement but suggested it was likely an isolated incident. It does little to comfort frightened citizens this morning."

Dean swallowed a taste of coffee and watched amateur footage of the streaks in the sky on his television. The pretty reporter stood outside of homes along a street near Sam's apartment but he saw nothing else out of place on the news. He drank more from his coffee mug as the anchors moved on to the next story--a rash of burglaries in York--which struck him as strange for that amount of coverage. Maine simply didn't have the violent crimes that he knew in places with denser populations.

A low grumble, considering the situation, pulled his attention to Castiel drinking his own coffee. Early morning sunlight illuminated his dress pants and button down shirt, immaculately dressed for school. Detached concerned etched his brow.

"Angels are searching for me," he said to no one in particular.

Charlie glanced at Rhiannon, who had arrived during the night and still looked like she needed a solid six hours of sleep. "They can't have you, Cas. We'll all fight them."

"They haven't found me. They think I'm down in Portland. It's good timing that we're going up north tomorrow if they manage to get close. Dean and I warded the entire peninsula, not just this house. It'll throw off their search long enough to let us know they're coming. I don't think they will though." Nonchalance padded his words and Dean didn't know whether to be worried about Castiel's cavalier attitude or be relieved in his confidence. The fallen angel swallowed the last of his coffee and stole a look at his watch. "I'm going to be late. See you all this afternoon."

"Family dinner tonight," Charlie reminded him. "Don't stuff yourself at lunch. I know you have a thing for quarter pounders. You never clean out your pockets before I do your laundry."

"You do their laundry?" Rhiannon's nose wrinkled.

With an exaggerated eye roll, Charlie hooked a thumb at Dean and Castiel. "One of them shredded my Wonder Woman shirt in the washer."

"Oh."

"It was vintage."

"Yikes."

"Yeah," chuckled Charlie. "So I do all the laundry now."

Smiling and teasing, Castiel's open hands grabbed her face and playfully growled. "You're not supposed to tell anyone about the wrappers in my pockets. Quarter pounders aren't on Dean's tragic-Cas-is-too-sick-for-cheeseburgers-and-chocolate-shakes diet."

"Burger King makes better chocolate shakes," chimed in Rhiannon as she leaned over the back of the couch and smirked.

"I'll keep that in mind." Castiel headed for the door and slipped arms into a charcoal overcoat that cut below the knees. It made him resemble a darker, more tailored version of himself when he wore the tan trench coat every day.

Heaving himself off the sofa, Dean rounded the couch and pushed the door shut before Castiel could leave. "Cas." Dean had been quiet since the news showed angels searching for him but he impulsively kissed his angel. He still thought of Castiel as an angel even without his grace. "Be careful. Keep your eyes open."

"Of course, Dean," he replied through an indulgent smile. "And I love you too."

A pair of female voices harmonized, "Awwww," from the living room.

"Oh, shut up!" groused Dean.

Laughing, Castiel left for work.

*****

Another week, another family dinner on hold because Sam was late. Dean opened the oven just enough to see if his roast was drying out because, as Sam always said, he was only twenty minutes away. He could be three states in any direction and still insist that he'd be there in twenty minutes flat, which was a funny thing before Dean became so concerned about domestic things like the quality of his roast. Late arrivals meant dry meat.

Coughing through the house sounded better than yesterday as Castiel came downstairs and wound around the living room to the kitchen. He appeared with Dean's new guilty pleasure--Disaronno with two icecubes. At first he'd taken it for a chick drink but it'd hit his tongue just the right way and he'd stopped caring about whether it was as masculine as whiskey. Another habit John Winchester instilled in him broke.

"How'd you know?" Dean asked, taking the glass for a swig.

"I know you," replied Castiel. He patted Dean's shoulder as he joined the girls in the dining room.

It was true--Dean had been tense like the old days in the bunker. The news report haunted him and he couldn't shake the sense of being hunted rather than the hunter. He drank the Disaronno slowly, knowing Castiel hated when he guzzled and got drunk rather than deal with reality. Offering the drink at all proved Castiel was ready to trust him with booze again. Or maybe he just recognized Dean's insecurity running deeper than average after a lifetime of instability and losing family. He nearly greeted the angels hunting Castiel with a phobic sense of dread. Yet he couldn't even allow himself the luxury of worrying about the things dearest to him when Heaven and Hell were constantly fucking up everything for the rest of the world. Dean stood alone in the kitchen waiting for the Disaronno to reach his nerves, unwilling to let the others see him that way.

Noise barrelled through the front door. Finally, Sam arrived with Wilhelmina and the baby. He listened to Charlie's muffled voice through the wall cooing at Logan while Sam and Wilhelmina welcomed Rhiannon back to Maine. A deep breath and a last drink set Dean as straight as he was going to get.

"Took you long enough," he said, emerging from the kitchen and punching his brother on the arm. "You know your job. Go set the table."

"You on the rag tonight?" Sam questioned with a smirk.

"I'm starving," Dean lied. To cover his mood, he approached Wilhelmina and offered a hug around the baby on her hip. "Hi, Wilhelmina." Purposefully, he used her name so Sam could hear it instead of the Pocahontas sarcasm he used in private with his brother.

"How's it going, Dean?" Her red smile came with a receptive warmth.

The blended Winchester family sat around the dining table as Dean required one night each week. Dinners had to be planned around Sam's nights off from the bar but the long-established routine felt normal by that night with Dean at the head of the table watching serving dishes passed back and forth. Somehow a high chair ended up stored in the pantry a couple of weeks prior, allowing baby Logan to eat at the table with them. He just couldn't comprehend the changes in their lives let alone the sensation of feeling completely right.

"All right, quiet down," Charlie piped out over the noise. She cut a coy look to Rhiannon sitting beside her. "I have a little announcement."

Dean folded his fingers and dreaded something ridiculous like they were getting married and skipping off into the sunset together. He remained unmoving and gave no indication of his thoughts. Realizing he looked like a stern father, a head of a family, he forced his shoulders to relax and he reached for his Disaronno. Castiel had refilled his glass before they sat down without being asked.

"I'm gonna become a witch," said Charlie, barely able to sit still.

"Wait, a witch witch?" Sam blurted.

"How many kinds are there?" she replied.

"The kind that sell their souls for power," Dean intervened quietly.

A narrowed, offended darkness infiltrated Rhiannon's eyes, framed by long tendrils of curly hair. "Really, Dean? You really think I'd lead Charlie down that road? I know you're on the rag today but don't take it out on her."

Dean's jaw clenched, irritated with himself but unable to admit it. He let the liquor flow into his mouth with such a slowness that it gave him time to clear his mind. Calloused skin covered his other hand resting on his thigh and Castiel subtly shook his head. Don't discourage her, that was the message loud and clear.

Charlie laughed him off. "I'm not painting my face green and kidnapping little yappy dogs or anything."

"But are you doing it for you or something else?"

"For me."

The look she gave him said she knew exactly what he meant. Charlie becoming a witch to win Rhiannon over was a possibility that he needed to address but she denied it so thoroughly that he had to accept it.

"Okay." Giving in, Dean raised his half-empty glass over the table. "To this weird Winchester coven then."

Smiles and contentment came over the table again. Food resumed being passed around from person to person as if they'd all waited for Dean's approval before they could approve of it too. Did he really have that much control over them? Were all families that way, with one patriarch leading the rest? He downed another drink before tucking into his roast and potatoes. The salty, savory taste melting on his tongue aroused his hunger and, for the moment, he let go of his worries.

"How are you feeling, Cas?" asked Wilhelmina, passing him the sliced carrots.

"Better. Thank you. I'm more worried about giving this cold to my children."

Rhiannon smiled, mouth closed, and hurriedly chewed her bite so she could say, "It's so awesome that you've gone from, you know, how we met to a preschool teacher even though you have these health problems. I'm only sorry I couldn't go deep enough to give you good health again."

"I'm gonna make Crowley fix that," Dean decided aloud.

Forks around the table stopped mid-motion. They all looked at Dean like they'd both forgotten he was there and they couldn't believe what he said. In some way, he couldn't believe he said it either but it was out there like the mashed potatoes and he wasn't going to take it back. Nope. Castiel probably didn't like it, taking charge of him like that, but Dean decided he meant it.

"He's not gonna fix Cas," said Sam with a skeptical eye.

"If he wants our help, he will."

Nobody could argue with that. They never underestimated Dean when he decided any course of action, but the problem was Crowley never underestimated him either, unlike the multitude of their other enemies. Dean studied his brother at the other end of the table as he spooned a little bit of mashed potatoes onto Logan's baby food bowl. The kid really didn't look half-demon, which might have been more unnerving than anything they'd encountered. His mind drifted to Jesse, the other child who was half-demon, and the thought of letting Logan mature with those powers in tact.... Dean's brain spiraled. It had been that way since watching the news that morning and he shook himself mentally.

"Dean?"

"What?"

Rhiannon's round arched brow twitched downward as if confused. "I said did you ask Wilhelmina about the revealing ritual?"

"Oh." Shaking his head, Dean reminded himself to eat. "I forgot."

"What's the ritual?" asked Wilhelmina, bypassing Dean altogether.

"Well, when Charlie told me about the cure the demon king gave you," began Rhiannon as she forked a bite of roast into her mouth, "I looked through my family's book of shadows. That's a record of all the spells and rituals we've used since ... well, since forever ... and I found something called a revealing ritual my great-great-great-great-great grandmother used the eighteenth century. I haven't seen it done obviously but she left very detailed instructions. If it works, it'll tell us if that cure's good or evil."

Hope illuminated Wilhelmina's dark eyes. "We could find out what's in it."

"Now, I didn't say that," Rhiannon replied, shaking her finger. "It won't give us a list of ingredients. I mean, it might name a few, but we're not likely to replicate it. The goal is to figure out if it'll harm your son or other children."

"Yeah, and we need women to do it," added Charlie. Excitement permeated her presence, although she did her best to keep it under wraps. Dean still saw it from where he sat at the head of the table."I read it all today. Photocopies, anyway."

"Right. The old books are too fragile to bring up here but I made copies."

"Why women?" Sam asked as if he was put off by being restricted from participating.

Castiel spoke up unexpectedly between bites. "Human females are equipped with natural intuitive power to protect their children. You see the same thing in the wild with female animals able to sense pending danger around their own young. So if this ritual is based in determining danger or safety, it's imperative that the strongest intuitive power is utilized."

"You sound like a witch's handbook," commented Dean with a subtle smirk.

The former angel smiled somewhat bashfully and turned his attention to his plate again. "Well, I haven't known too many witches. They tend to work with the other side. But I know a few things."

"And hereditary witches keep to themselves," Rhiannon confirmed. "But you're right, Cas."

Dinner passed into small talk and plans for the weekend, soon fading into muffled voices in the back of Dean's mind. The distraction of Charlie clearing away dinnerplates and bringing out one of Castiel's pies allowed him the moment to reach under the table without being seen. Months in Maine and Sam still couldn't let a display of affection pass without comment, which Dean ordinarily didn't care, but that day made him feel like an exposed live wire. He slid his hand overtop Castiel's under the table and obstructed his expression by leaning on his other hand. Concerned blue eyes traveled from their hands to Dean's face, though he didn't give anything away. He flipped his palm up and knotted their fingers without a word. He knew something wasn't right. He always knew Dean's moods.

Dean focused himself on the pie and the earthly flavors that brought him back to himself, which sounded ridiculous in his own mind, but spiraling that way left him uneasy. He loathed the vulnerability that seeped in along with letting himself love Castiel. Now the slightest threat, like his illness or the angels searching Maine, left him distracted and moody. Not giving a crap about most people aside from Sam was what allowed him to do his job as a hunter. Fearless and strong, Dean was the nightmare monsters whispered about in their own dark corners.

Domesticity made him softer. He could admit that, though regretfully. Going back to living like a hunter in skeevy motels, killing things on a weekly basis ... it didn't appeal to him as much anymore. He bit into a blueberry and the sweet, tart juice spread over his tongue. Real things. Yes. A flakey crust. The gooey texture of the filling. Hi family. The dinner table. _Real things_. He reminded himself that he took on Lucifer and the apocalypse while being in love with Castiel, though he never admitted it at the time. But he still took it all on and succeeded. He could do it all again. The paralyzing sense of vulnerability had to be stowed. He swallowed the pie and swallowed his bullshit.

After dinner, Rhiannon took Charlie and Wilhelmina outside to set up the casting circle in the same place where she'd healed Castiel. Stones bordered the sacred space in a circular formation, of which Charlie laid out under her direction. Dean crouched on the ground observing everything like a hawk as he lazily sifted dirt through his fingers. Ritual tools laid out at the cardinal directions reminded him of the night they tried to revive Castiel and he couldn't watch anymore. He averted his gaze to the sea beyond his home.

Yet inside, he found Sam changing Logan's diaper on the couch. That was even weirder.

"Are they ready?" Sam asked as he yanked a baby wipe from the box.

"Almost. Just grabbing the cure," replied Dean. "You're uh...."

"Never done this before. Mashed potatoes and gravy made a poop bomb. His mom's too busy. Am I doing this right?"

"How would I know?"

"You took care of the shifter baby."

"Oh." Dean had forgotten about that. "Looks like you're fine to me."

Dean headed upstairs and groped around under Charlie's bed for the wooden box she used to hide important things. He was careful not to mess with her things too much as he snatched the demon cure and retracted his path out to the back yard.  
  
"Oh good. We're ready to get started." Rhiannon took the bottle and stepped into the circle where Charlie and Wilhelmina gave each other uncertain looks. "Boys, you don't intervene no matter what happens. Understand?"  
  
"Is this dangerous?" Sam asked.  
  
"No, not at all. It can look dangerous to people who don't know what they're doing," she replied with a touch of sass that let Dean know she was ready to go.  
  
A fire blazed in the middle of the circle and Dean wondered how she got it going so fast. Never mind. She was a witch. He didn't need to know. As Charlie and Wilhelmina backed off to the edges of the sacred circle, Rhiannon placed the bottle into a cauldron over the fire. He nearly barked out a warning not to ruin the mixture--that is until the fire rose up around the cauldron, embracing it and containing it. Castiel, clutching baby Logan, nudged the Winchester brothers toward the deck as if he knew they needed to give the women their distance.  
  
"You sure about this?" Dean asked Sam and Castiel in a discreet tone.  
  
"Dean, relax. Rhi's never done wrong by us," replied Sam.  
  
They observed Rhiannon offer devotion and respect to her higher powers with her arms raised to the sky. While Charlie took it all in with great interest, Wilhelmina appeared rather uncertain. Her eyes darted to the deck, falling on her baby first and then Sam, and drew in a deep breath.  
  
"Ladies, please join hands over the cauldron," Rhiannon directed. She took their hands and linked them together the way she needed. "Give all of your energy and intention to discovering what's inside the bottle. Close your eyes."  
  
The women obeyed, standing around the cauldron with their arms forming a ring around the fire. Rhiannon flattened her palms over the cauldron and mumbled a chanting rhythm in a language Dean hadn't heard. Over and over again, the chanting spilled from her mouth. At the base of the fire, the flames turned blue and spread up around the bell shape of the cauldron. Eventually, the entire fire blazed forth in a bright blue shade, making Dean hope his neighbors weren't watching the ritual from their drawn curtains.

"Come forth, Papa Legba," chanted Rhiannon as she splashed wine on the ground. She began twirling, her white dress billowing out around her bare legs, and her reverent chants of honor began calling out other entities, always seeking Papa Legba first.

"She's doing voodoo," Dean whispered.

"It's Haitian Vodou, Dean," corrected Sam as he leaned closer.

Rhiannon's voice ascended higher as her dress rippled with each swirling movement. "Come forth, Papa Legba! Open the gates! Open the gates! Come forth, Simbi Makaya! Come forth, Yemalla!"

The chanting faded into syllables Dean didn't understand again as Rhiannon's body abruptly jerked and twisted rather than gracefully spun and danced. She dropped to her knees before the fire, though Charlie and Wilhelmina never moved, and her torso flung back and forth beyond her control. Dean nearly stopped the proceedings once he realized the two women holding hands devolved into some sort of trance.

"Stop." Sam grabbed his sleeve. "I've seen this before. She's doing everything the right way."

Dean opened his mouth to argue, but just then, he noticed three shadowy figures out by the shore beyond the sacred circle. One stood so tall, much larger than his brother if that was even possible, and he knew he witnessed something inhuman.

And then everything stopped. The fire died in an instant, the shadowy figures disappeared, and all three women within the circle collapsed in limp heaps on the ground.

"Go. I've got the child," insisted Castiel.

The Winchester brothers bolted off the deck and raced toward the collapsed women. Dean dropped between Rhiannon and Charlie, knowing that Sam would run straight for Wilhelmina. The witch came around first with the heel of her hand jammed against her forehead, wincing in pain. Rhiannon reacted the same way but Charlie, the youngest, bounced back almost immediately. She hopped to her feet excitedly even before Dean could feel her head for injuries.

"It's safe! It's safe!" she declared to the lot of them. "Okay, so this serpent guy came out of the water over there. Did you guys see it? He was like a big snake, like the snake talking to Harry Potter, except this one told me things about magic!"

"No." Sam shook his head, looking up at her as he tenderly swept back Wilhelmina's hair.

Charlie flapped her arms and almost jumped up and down with the news. "Are you kidding? How could you not see it? He told me the demon cure was safe for children and we should give it to all of them! All of them, guys! I'm normally scared of snakes but this guy didn't scare me. Weird."

"She's right," Rhiannon confirmed in her groggy state. "I was told the same thing. Papa Legba allowed the Loa--spirits--to come forward and answer our questions."

"Who the hell's Papa Legba?" Dean demanded. "Where'd your family learn this ritual anyway?"

Rhiannon's round face looked stronger as it turned up to his without fear of him or anything supernatural. "Slavery used to be legal in Massachusetts, Dean. My family owned people and those people came from Haiti. They knew what we were because of their own practices. Rituals and ceremonies blended because it was more important to protect our traditions than protect race relations at the time. Can you understand that? Some of the rituals in my family's book of shadows came from our slaves. Those rituals are neither Pagan nor Vodoun but something altogether blended and independent."

"But it's voodoo," he said.

"Ritual is ritual whether it's Catholic, Pagan, Vodoun, or anything else," she argued. "Only the intent behind the ritual makes it good or bad. You asked for answers. I got you the answers you needed. The cure that demon king gave you is real. It's safe for children. It's designed to remove the demon elements from their DNA and separate the ties to Hell from their souls."

"It contains two percent angelic grace," said Wilhelmina, speaking for the first time since she collapsed. "Only pure darkness can be fought with pure light. That's what the mermaid explained to me. I was shown how to conduct the ritual for my son and I was shown how to heal all other half-demon children. She said it's my purpose."

With a sharp nod, Rhiannon looked at Dean like Wilhelmina and Charlie proved her point. "See? You asked the questions and they've given us the answers."

"I don't understand what a mermaid has to do with Haitian Vodoun," replied Sam.

"Yemalla takes that form sometimes," Rhiannon replied. "Simbi Makaya was the water serpent that came to Charlie. I don't know much about either of them except Yemalla's a fierce protector of children and Simbi Makaya's a sorcerer. That's what it said in the book."

Rising to his feet, Dean retrieved the bottle from the cauldron. He expected the bottle to be hot since it's spent the better part of a half-hour engulfed in flames, but it felt cool to the touch as if something had protected it the entire time. As he looked at the liquid within, he realized the faint blue tint had to be the angelic grace mixed in there. Still, even though the ritual revealed it was safe, he couldn't shake his hunter's mindset that demanded him to approach everything with caution. There was no other way to find out if the demon cure was legitimate. The only thing left to do was try it out on Logan, which made him incredibly nervous. If it hurt the baby, that would break Wilhelmina. Breaking Wilhelmina would, in turn, break Sam because Dean wasn't stupid. He knew Sam was head over heels for that woman.

"Okay, everybody please go inside. I have to finish the ritual. This part has to be done alone. It's nothing major. I just have to properly offer thanks to the entities that came forward, otherwise they won't help me again," explained Rhiannon as she found her footing and swept the dirt from her dress.

They obeyed but Dean kept a close eye on Wilhelmina as she accepted her child from Castiel. Nothing about her posture suggested fear or hesitation. She seemed to believe wholeheartedly that what she saw was the truth and part of him really admired her convictions. How many times had he seen things that nobody else would have believed? They left Rhiannon and trudged back into the house, each privately coping with the insanity of their lives.

"What do you think?" Dean asked her in a quiet corner of the living room.

She bounced the fussy child on her hip, presumably awake far later than his bedtime. "I think I don't have a choice. I could ask myself what if for the rest of my life and watch my child grow up to be an abomination or I could take a chance and give him a normal life." She eyed him knowingly as if something occurred to her. "Tell me, Dean. What would you have done if there was something to prevent Sam from becoming addicted to demon blood? You would've done it. You wouldn't hesitate."

He had to admit it. "Yeah, you're right. I get it."

An empathetic nod and a touch to his arm offered more warmth than he'd received from her before. "Thanks. I knew you'd understand what I'm going through here."

"I do," he had to admit again with a slow, considerate nod. "Okay. I'll start planning a trip to the Ozarks."

*****

The digital clock glowed red on Dean's bedside table, frightening him as he shot upright, thrown from a nightmare. Panting and sweating, he felt in the blackness for the cord and ripped it from the wall. Hell glowed in every conceivable shade of red. He fucking _hated_ that color. They needed a new clock with safe, cool colors like blue or green if his nightmares were going to continue shredding his subconscious that way.

Dean climbed out of bed and shut the door behind him. A quiet moment looking at the sea through the window at the end of the hall usually calmed his nerves. There were no active threats to send him back to Hell but he still suffered through an increasing bout of nightmares of late. He wondered if those dreams would be his go-to way of reacting to fear or stress for the rest of his life. That bothered him as he leaned against the window frame and folded his arms over his naked chest. Truthfully, he didn't know if he could live that way--afraid to sleep and taste the sulfur in his throat or feel the red hot fires.

Everything red in his home had to go. He decided to throw it all out without telling anyone. The less he had to explain, the better.

A flicker of white down by the shore caught Dean's attention. He squinted. The peninsula wasn't well lit at all--that was the appeal of living out in the boonies--and he couldn't see well out there. A bell-shaped skirt materialized in the dark. There strolled Rhiannon in her usual flowing hippie dress along the shore, and then a darker figure moved beside her. Dean saw Rhiannon's face turn to the person with her and a long piece of orange hair flipped out from a hoodie in the breeze. The witch smiled softly and reached out for a hand.

Dean decided to quit spying on Charlie. She was clearly nuts over Rhiannon and he had no legitimate reason to dissuade her aside from his own issues with intimacy and commitment. Hell, he'd entertained the idea of being with Rhiannon once upon a time in his younger days.

Flipping on the bathroom light disoriented him for a moment as his pupils shrank. He splashed water on his face and considered whether he could really go back to sleep or not. Flashes and bursts of fire flooded his vision whenever he closed his eyes but sometimes the cool harshness of nighttime Maine air grounded him in life. He couldn't wait for winter. Everything about cold and snow was far more beautiful and enticing after doing time in the pit.

"Dean...."

Looking in the mirror, he found Castiel in his pajama pants and tousled dark hair staring back at him. "Sorry. I tried to be quiet."

"You know I don't care if you wake me," the one-time angel replied.

Dean turned to the towel rack and rubbed his wet face in the fluffy cotton. Another pleasant sensation that he used to counteract the horrible sensations experienced in Hell that chased him in nightmares. He touched soft, cool things far longer than necessary sometimes.

"Do you want to talk about it?" Castiel probed.

"Not really," said Dean.

"They're coming more frequently," Castiel pointed out anyway.

"I know."

A moment passed. "Perhaps you shouldn't hunt the King and Queen."

"No way," Dean insisted sharply. "That's like telling a quarterback maybe he shouldn't play the Super Bowl because he's got a sprain."

"I don't understand that reference."

"Football, Cas," he said. "Look, I'm not sitting this one out."

A deep sigh passed through Castiel, frustrated, as he looked away and shook his head. It was fruitless to try and talk Dean into giving up hunting for the time being but love was what made the fallen angel try. They both knew it. Love made Castiel try and protect Dean as much as love made Dean try and protect Castiel. He realized they had to be careful with those volatile emotions, otherwise they could end up fighting _against_ each other instead of _for_ each other.

"Hey," Dean whispered, softer then, as he crossed over the fuzzy bathroom rug and looped his arms around Castiel. "I'm gonna be okay. I'm just stressed out right now. People have nightmares more when they're under a lot more stress like this."

"Yes," agreed Castiel, leaning into his embrace and curling fingers around his shoulders, "...but not everyone has been to Hell and lived to tell about it."

"I'm okay, babe," Dean reiterated.

Warm hands slid down the length of Dean's face and a thumb strayed over his bottom lip. Castiel's bright blue eyes burned with the need to  _do something_ and take away his suffering, yet Dean saw the futility of his new human nature in those eyes too. Once full of the self-possessed confidence that came with being a multidimensional wavelength of celestial intent, he lived now as a human man consumed by very human doubts. Dean felt responsible for that. His curled finger slid down the length of Castiel's nose and he kissed the tip of it, trying to convey things he couldn't express with words.

"You never talk about getting married anymore. Come to bed and show me those magazines of yours," Dean murmured.

"You hate weddings," said Castiel skeptically.

"I won't hate ours. Scout's honor," Dean promised, holding up his fingers in the Boy Scouts pledge, not that he'd ever been one. Absently, he added. "And talk to me about your kids. Kayleigh. I liked her."

A faint smile tugged the corner of Castiel's mouth. "She liked you too."


	35. Demon Dancer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A weekend in the north of Maine seems to be just what the Winchester family needs. Wilhelmina takes them up to visit her family at a powwow. Although Dean isn't too sure about it, he brings Castiel along with him to support Sam in meeting his new girlfriend's relatives. No one expects Wilhelmina's grandmother to react to her baby the way she does but it pushes her a great deal closer to Sam--closer than he expected too. At the second day of the powwow, a demon corners Dean with a message from Crowley.

Dean never felt so _white_ in his life, but strangely, he had a great time too. A weekend up in the middle of nowhere--and apparently northern Maine was like the last untouched place on Earth--seemed to relieve him of so much weight. He carried everyone's problems along with his own. It got so heavy that it started pulling him back down to Hell again.

Linking hands with Castiel, he followed Wilhelmina and Sam around the open field populated by food and vendor tents around a rectangular arena. The arena, of course, was just an open space of grass flanked by bleachers overflowing with the people Wilhelmina had known since childhood. Being a few of a handful of white people there made him uneasy, not for himself per se, but he didn't like the idea of encroaching on an event that hadn't been advertised for tourists.

"I'm half-white," Wilhelmina had assured him through a whisper and a smile. "Don't worry 'bout it. Nobody's gonna jump you or anything."

So, Dean grabbed Castiel by the hand and decided to try and have some fun. He knew a little bit about those gatherings thanks to Castiel's love affair with Google and they both grew interested in drum circles. Dean liked any music that involved beating the crap out of the instrument.

As they filed along the bleachers toward an empty spot near the top, an announcer introduced the men's traditional competition. It caught Wilhelmina's attention. Her head whipped toward the dance arena below and she angled Logan that way too.

"Look, Grandpa Jack's out there," she told the child balanced on her hip.

Taking a seat between Castiel and Sam with Wilhelmina holding the baby on her lap on the other side of him, Dean searched for the drum circle. He spotted it just as the MC introduced a group called Northern Cree, which, as they began singing, blew his mind. It amazed him that he hadn't really been exposed to that kind of music despite growing up partially in Kansas and South Dakota. He guessed never staying put in one place too long kept him from experiencing a lot of things.

"They get prizes, right?" asked Sam low enough so other people wouldn't hear him.

Wilhelmina nodded. "Cash, ribbons, trophies, stuff like that."

"The clothes--"

"--Regalia--"

"--Regalia. Sorry. It's really cool," Dean said, though he felt stupid as soon as it came out of his mouth.

Leaning around Sam, she smirked at Dean over her child's head. "It is, yeah. Wait 'til you see the fancy dance competitions. Traditional regalia's much simpler. I'm only sorry we missed the grand entry. There's a lot I want you guys to experience, though, like the food vendors and stuff. You look like an Indian taco kind of guy, Dean. I think Cas will want sweet frybread. And you," she nudged Sam with her shoulder, "I want you to try bison. It's low in fat. Right up your health nut alley."

"Sure," Sam said with an affectionate smile.

"It's a shame Charlie and Rhiannon decided not to come," Castiel mused, his chin planted on his fist, watching the dancers pound their way across the grass. "Astonishing. Each foot taps the ground with the beat of the drum, connecting all of them deeper with the universe."

"Yoda," teased Dean.

"I don't understand that reference and I don't care," retorted Castiel, his brow raised and a bright smile suggesting real sarcasm as natural as any human man. "Why did they decide not to come?"

"Research." Air quotes padded Dean's word.

Laughing, Wilhelmina had seemed rather amused all morning by the glint in Charlie's eye at the breakfast table. "Oh, leave 'em alone. We all know Charlie's over the moon for Rhiannon and I say more power to 'em. This world's hard enough to navigate alone. If you find someone who gets you, sink in your claws and never let 'em go."

"Shouldn't we be using the  _other_ names?" asked Sam quietly.

"I don't think it matters here. Nobody knows us," Dean decided. "We're a solid four hours north of home. I mean, we're almost in Canada, for Christ's sake."

"Yes, I think we can be ourselves. Just for the weekend," decided Castiel.

Cutting in, Wilhelmina absently stroked Logan's head as he chewed on her watch band. "But, for now, I'm introducing you guys to my family by your  _other_ names. Rhiannon told me to listen to my guts and that's what they say."

"Your gut, honey," Sam corrected.

"What?"

He chuckled. "The phrase is listen to your gut."

"Oh whatever, Stanford." She slapped his thigh. "Just remember you're a lowly bartender now."

"I like being a bartender," he said with a faint but sincere smile.

The afternoon passed in crisp autumn sunlight as the Winchesters watched Native American dancing and soaked in songs they hadn't given attention to in the past. Wilhelmina explained the different competitions from time to time, and even told them about how she used to compete as a fancy shawl dancer. It was, Dean learned, quite literally women in full, beautiful regalia spinning and dancing to the honor drum in time with a colorfully decorated shawl flung out like wings. Part of him regretted not being able to see her compete. He knew Sam would have eaten it up like candy if he had the opportunity to cheer her on like that.

"I see my granny down there," she said just as the MC announced a break in the competition. "See, by the first frybread vendor? In the wheelchair? She never misses seeing Grandpa Jack dance. C'mon, let's go meet her."

The reason she brought them up north was to have Sam's family meet her family, so Dean and Castiel wound through the crowds behind her like obedient puppies. Nothing about him was particularly social, especially with strangers. Of course he could follow a basic script when interviewing witnesses or victims but small talk on a Saturday afternoon at a powwow threw him completely out of his comfort zone. It seemed important to Sam, though, and that was why Dean gritted his teeth and got through it.

With a bright smile, Wilhelmina approached a woman of a similar age and flung her free arm around her. Logan squealed as if he recognized the woman too and, yes, there was something familiar about her.

"Paul, this is my sister. Catherine, this is my boyfriend and his brother, Mike, and his husband, Nick."

Dean had never heard either of them use words like boyfriend or girlfriend even though that was clearly what they were, and judging by the way Sam's eyes lingered on her face, he hadn't heard that word yet either. He shook Catherine's hand and kissed her cheek, so Dean and Castiel mimicked his greeting, not really knowing how else to proceed.

"Great to meet you, finally," said Catherine. She resembled Wilhelmina, except shorter and quite a bit more bubbly, having not been so abused for so long. "Willie's told me a lot of great stuff about you guys. You've been really awesome to her these last few months."

"Willie, huh?" repeated Sam with an arched brow.

"I hate that name," she said, wrinkling her nose. "Oh, there's my mom. Mom! Come meet Paul and his family!"

Much more reserved and skeptical, her mother, Tammy, greeted them with cool indifference. She said hello and shook their hands without being rude, of course, but all of her warmth and love went straight to her daughters and grandson. Wilhelmina passed Logan to her and shook her arms as if carrying him around all day wore her down. Sam's hand skimmed her arm and their fingers knotted together now that she was free of the baby. He showed commitment to her family with that little gesture. Dean wasn't that naive. He'd dated women for his entire life before Castiel and knew when the mother needed to be impressed.

"Granny? Hi, Granny. How are you?" Wilhelmina hadn't even lit up for her mother the way she did when she maneuvered around her sister to hug the elderly woman in a wheelchair. "I feel like it's been forever since I last saw you. Are you doing okay?"

The old woman with sagging features and gnarled hands reached up and clasped Wilhelmina's cheeks. "I'm better with you here, honey," she replied. "You don't look well-rested or well-fed. Where's my great-grandson?"

"Here, Mom." Tammy bent with Logan and gave him to the old lady.

"Granny, look here. I want you to meet Paul, Mike, and Nick too. Paul and I are dating."

Reaching behind her, Wilhelmina grabbed Sam's hand and he performed the charming boyfriend role as beat as he could. It occurred to Dean that he'd probably done this before with Jess' family and it could bring up unpleasant memories if they weren't careful. But then Dean realized there wasn't anything he could do and Sam probably considered all of that a thousand times over already. Taking the risk again, giving himself to a woman again, was quite a feat for a man who buried more than one girlfriend. If he was there, then he meant it. It all finally, wholly sank in for Dean right there.

Wilhelmina's grandmother gripped the child in front of her and carefully studied every inch of him. At first Dean took her for a rather loving, invested grandparent until the wrinkles between her eyes grew unnaturally deep. She looked into Logan's eyes and he let out a declarative squeal. The woman's lips fell open as she looked to Wilhelmina, filled with sudden apprehension.

"Granny?"

Aged eyes turned to Tammy standing off to the side and she muttered something in their native language. An old tongue, apparently, that Wilhelmina didn't seem to understand.

"Mom, English, please," Wilhelmina said.

Tammy hesitated and leaned in, presumably to keep passersby from hearing them. "She says the baby's been overtaken by a trickster."

The color bled from Wilhelmina's face. A suspended moment left Dean wondering if the comment would make Wilhelmina crack under the pressure of keeping her child's secret. She faltered. She blinked at her mother, open-mouthed. Then the maternal instinct came over her like a veil and she became cool and dismissive. "C'mon, Mom. That's just superstitious bull. No tricker spirit has overtaken Logan. Look how happy he is."

All eyes fell on the baby approaching his first birthday as he happily babbled to his great-grandmother. The old woman apparently forgot what she said too as she hummed and smiled at the boy.

"Your grandmother knows things," said Tammy, though she appeared to slowly back down. "She always knew things when I was young, you know."

"I know, Mom. Everything's fine though." Wilhelmina plastered a smile on her face that could have even fooled Dean if he didn't already know her child was fathered by a demon. Her cool reserve and ability to lie under pressure impressed him. Maybe she was a good match for Sam after all.

*****

As always, the feral kitten waited until Sam switched off the bedside lamp to crawl into bed with him. She curled into a ball under the safe weight of his arm draped around her middle. He'd gotten used to the wordless ritual and didn't even question it anymore. The rules still applied in that motel hours from home.

"Do you think it was a bad idea to let my mom keep Logan tonight?" she whispered in the dark.

"Why not? She's watched him before," he whispered back.

"Not while staying in my granny's house though. You saw what happened today. What if she does something and his eyes do that copper thing?"

Sam yawned into her hair, speaking sluggishly. "I doubt that'll happen. His eyes only turn color if he touches salt, holy water, or hears an exorcism. I really don't think your grandmother's got that stuff lying around where he can get to them, if at all." He slipped a finger through her hair and tucked it around her ear as he talked. "Boys need to hang around grandparents. That's the stuff they remember when they grow up."

"You never did," she replied regretfully.

"That's why I'm telling you Logan's okay," he assured. "With any luck, he'll be more than okay when we take him to the Ozarks."

She twisted under his arm, wriggling and rolling over, where they faced each other on the same pillow. Giving him full eye contact without hiding herself after a few seconds was rare but he saw the almond outline of her eye in the dark room. Though he didn't press his luck, fingertips traced the sloping curve of her hip and enjoyed the cotton softness making up a pair of tiny feminine shorts. She leaned up, pressing full lips to his. Sam's heart nearly gave out right there. Instead of backing away like she always did when he touched her like an actual boyfriend should, she planted her mouth on him.

Unfortunately for Sam, the amount of restraint he'd been putting himself through for her sake charged him right down to his cells if she laid a single hand on his skin. A burst of heat spiraled through his chest down to his groin and he angled himself away, uncertain of her reaction if she actually felt what weeks of self-denial did to him.

Empty and cold the second she broke the kiss, Sam wondered if that was it--that was all she could give for the night. Her brows drew in together as she studied his face. "Why'd you back up?"

His brain scrambled for an answer but only the truth sounded right. "I don't wanna get too carried away."

"Why?"

"I told you before. It's your decision, you know... when...."

"Oh. Right." Nodding in thought, Wilhelmina flicked long black hair over her shoulder and scooted on her hip like she intended to get out of bed.

Sam's face fell--or it nearly fell--not having but a split second to react before hands jammed his chest and knocked him on his back. A leg so much more toned than he expected tossed over his waist, throwing the sheet back in one fluid motion, and then there she hovered over him. Part of Sam--the well-mannered, politically correct part--panicked as his eyes dropped to the way curves filled out her tank top and the rise in her hips as she straddled him.

But the other part of him--the part that got off on how women gasped with delight as he threw them against walls or windows or bathroom sinks--sat up and hooked an arm around her waist. Red fingernails scraped his stubble as her face lowered to his, a ferocious kiss allowing him to hope, to imagine possibilities. Hands roamed into her hair and along the dip in her spine, over her hips, and across her bare thigh. Her face tipped and gave him free reign over the unexplored flesh of her sweet-smelling neck. The damp underside of her hair brushing his nose reminded him that she'd just showered.

His palm strayed further inward on her thigh and as soon as he felt the scars, he regretted it. Pale, raised flesh lines reminded them both of the horrors she'd endured. An abused woman, Wilhelmina's scars were always going to be there and, if she didn't find a way to cope, they would always come between them. She froze in his arms.

"We can stop if you want," he blurted in a dry whisper, though the strain in his boxers emphatically argued.

Wilhelmina debated it. He watched the struggle play out on her features. High cheekbones filled with a deep rosy shade and heavy lashes turned to one side with her gaze. She chewed her bottom lip, still swollen with Sam's loving efforts.

"N-no," she said, looking at him again with renewed determination.

A folded hand caressed her upper arm. "You sure?"

"I'm good, Sam," she promised. Hesitation remained but the fight to overcome her fears blasted it away. Between kisses, a thought fell out of her mouth into his. "Just don't ... um ... don't pin me down or anything, okay? I can't ... I can't do...."

Sam's first finger silenced her lips and he gave her a sincere nod. "I got it. You're in control 'til you decide you don't wanna be."

Maybe one day she would understand how much it took for Sam not to possess her body the way he'd always done. His enormous stature gave women the idea that he could throw them around like ragdolls, which he _could_ , but doing that only began as an act to please them and not of a real desire. That changed the more he behaved that way though. As Wilhelmina pressed his wrists into the mattress and stopped him from moving, he considered how easily it could have been her in that position. What began in his youth as a man recognizing feminine attraction to his size suddenly shifted to allowing the willowy lady total control  _in spite of_ his imposing stature.

By morning, Sam's entire attitude about women maintaining control in bed completely changed.

*****

A second day without drizzle seemed too good to be true but Dean didn't see a cloud anywhere as he craned his head skyward. The sun dipped below the treeline, bringing on darkness within the hour, he estimated. Northern Maine was, however, deceptively cool even for autumn. He zipped his jacket halfway on the way to a food vendor that Wilhelmina deemed better than the others yesterday.

He glanced back at the bleachers but he couldn't spot his family in the crowds. Apparently popular dance and music prizes were being handed out that day and people came from everywhere to watch. Wilhelmina's sister talked her into donning regalia and dancing in something called a spotlight special, which wasn't competition but dancing for previous competitors who won a lot of prizes. Or something. Dean wasn't too sure how it worked but he really wanted to see her dance, but at the same time, the family needed dinner.

"What'll ya have?" asked the lady behind the counter.

"Gimme six tacos and six Cokes, please," Dean ordered as he pulled his wallet out from his back pocket.

The problem was Indian tacos laid out open like pizzas rather than folded and stackable. He slung a plastic bag of Coke bottles over his forearm and stacked cardboard taco trays in hopes that everything would survive the walk back to the bleachers. He should have brought Castiel with him.

People in street clothes and various states of regalia cast long, strange shadows on the ground in the early evening light as Dean made his way between them. Carrying food was, to him, just as fragile as carrying a baby, making him say _excuse me_ from time to time in foreign bouts of politeness. _Just don't bang into my dinner_ , he thought. Hot food warmed his palms through the cardboard and assaulted his nose in the most delightful way. Jesus fucking Christ, he was tempted to hoard all six tacos for himself and be done with it.

Suddenly a woman blocked Dean's path back into the arena. She materialized out of nothing so quick that he almost lost half the tacos on the ground.

"Sorry," he muttered even though it was her fault.

"Don't worry about it, Dean," she replied through a wide, toothy smile.

Using his name caught his attention and in a nanosecond he felt himself sink into some deep shit. He didn't know her--that woman with her hands clasped behind her back, wearing bright blue regalia with white and orange trim, her hair neatly braided over her shoulders--but she knew him and that only meant one thing. Right on cue, the dancer blinked and gave him the most shining black demon eyes she could muster. The demon possessed one of the dancing competitors just to blend in and go unrecognized by the hunters.

"How's it going this weekend?" she asked with a saccharin conversational tip of her head.

Dean wasn't having it. "What do you want?"

"Now, now, don't shove Ruby's old blade in my chest in front of all these nice people. Geez, Dean, you can be so touchy." With a chuckle, the demon withdrew a slip of paper from her meatsuit's belt and tucked it into Dean's pocket. Her tone dropped all pretense of false niceties. "A gift from my king."

"Crowley sent you?"

Her face slid down, disgusted. "Do you really think I'd work for Miss Ginger Snap's regime?"

"I dunno," he mumbled, smirking. "You guys all look alike to me."

"Racist," the demon retorted. "Listen, Crowley sent along the locations of two properties owned by the King of the Incubi and Queen of the Succubi. Or should I say properties owned by their respective courts."

"Courts?"

"Keep up, dumbass. Don't you ever watch _Game of Thrones_ or _The Tudors_? Every sovereign has loyal courtiers around them like bees in beehives, but in this case, these courts don't have active appearances by their sovereigns. Just the  _possibility_ of appearances is enough to keep the beehives running wherever the King and Queen plop them down. So," she continued, shrugging, "it's not the big cheeses on a platter but more like an incentive. A little crumb on your trail to keep you interested in Crowley's more than generous offer."

"I haven't said yes yet," Dean said skeptically.

"Oh, no, of course not. Crowley wouldn't dream of a proper answer to any business deal until you've both seen the goods on the table. He's seen your goods. He knows you and that angel can kill anything with the right motivation and you know that too." The demon paused, deep honey skin glowing in the arena lights. As the arena went dark and spotlights blared onto the six honored female dancers--Wilhelmina among them--the demon patted Dean's shoulder. "Cure that baby. Check out these addresses. When you see Crowley's made good on his end of the arrangement, then summon him for your end of it."

"Fine," muttered Dean, unable to kill that black-eyed piece of hell-flesh in such a peaceful family environment. "Can I go now?"

"Oh sure. Your brother's girlfriend is about to dance, isn't she? Aw, good luck to her."

Dean decided on the spot not to tell Wilhelmina that a demon--probably more than one--was in the crowd while she danced again. He could be a dick about a lot of things but not when it came to protecting people and giving them a normal life. They'd just have to deal with everything tomorrow.

Tonight was about family.


	36. I Hate To Fly

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean, Sam, Castiel, Wilhelmina, Logan, Charlie, and Rhiannon head to a place in the Ozarks known for its healing spring waters. There, they intend to try and cure baby Logan of his demon heritage with the sketchy cure Crowley gave them. If it doesn't work, they risk possibly killing the baby or letting him grow up half demon. If it works, Dean has to ask himself whether he'll agree to work with Crowley on killing the Queen of the Succubi and the King of the Incubi.

Feeling like his knees were made of Jell-O made Dean so much more aware of being bowlegged. As he followed Sam, Wilhelmina, and Castiel in search of their rental car at the St. Louis airport, he still felt like his feet had found solid ground yet. Hell, even Castiel looked better than he did.

"Are you okay?" he asked, concerned filling his blue eyes.

"I hate to fly," Dean muttered. " _Fuck_ , I hate to fly."

Tittering laughter trailed Philomena ahead of them as she clutched her son and walked alongside Sam through the parking lot. "Ohhhh, you big baby," she teased over her shoulder and flashed a toothy grin. "There isn't anything safer than hurdling through the air miles above the ground in a giant metal to with wings at hundreds of miles per hour! It's perfectly natural!"

"Oh, _hahahaha_ , you're so funny. Keep walking, legs."

Wilhelmina's hand snapped an arc over her head and her hips jutted dramatically from side to side as she strutted. They arrived in St. Louis for such an intense reason, yet Wilhelmina actually seemed lighthearted and carefree as if she had no idea what lay ahead for them. Maybe her faith in healing waters at the Ozarks allowed her that joyous attitude, or maybe it was the knowledge that Crowley and his demon cure were legitimate as far as Rhiannon discerned. Still, being an experienced hunter and privy to the whims of hellish creatures, Dean knew things could go south at any second. He didn't want to rob Wilhelmina of her lighthearted mood, but he remained cautious and vigilant, ready to fight should anything get too close to them.

The four of them, with the demon baby in question, drove several hours southwest of St. Louis. According to Sam's map, they headed toward the Arkansas border, though not quite that far. The entire area seemed oddly familiar, but then again, Dean and Sam once hunted Missouri and Arkansas so often that they used to know the roads without needing a map.

*****

"Rise and shine, flowers! Come and face the dawn!" Rhiannon pounded on the motel room door were Dean and Castiel collapsed into bed after arriving in the Ozarks. "Let's go! We've got things to do!"

Groaning, Dean rolled over on his back and slung an arm over his eyes. He never was one for early mornings the way Rhiannon had always been and it seemed Charlie had gotten just as bad about it. The two of them went ahead to the Ozarks by a couple of days in hopes of scoping out the area should they have to resort to breaking into a national park after closing to have private access to the springs. No one knew who the women were, which meant they were least likely to turn up on wanted posters. That, unfortunately, was entirely possible for Dean and Sam in their line of work, often impersonating law enforcement and national park rangers.

"Come on, Dean! I'm hungry!" Charlie shouted through the door.

A heavy, irritated sigh erupted from Dean's lips. "I liked her better when she was sarcastic and slept until noon. That's the American way."

"Happy people generally wake earlier," Castiel pointed out as he got out of bed and searched the floor for his boxers.

Rhiannon took her turn shouting through the door with, "Are you doing it in there?"

"No!" Dean barked out the word so quickly that it probably sounded like a false denial, which sent Castiel into low, rumbling chuckles. "Oh, shut up. I don't need lip from you too. Did you take your pills yet?" And as soon as the words came out of his mouth, Dean shook his head at himself. "Jesus Christ, when did we become old?"

"Old's a relative word, love. I'm approximately eight and a half million years old, whereas you are thirty-five," replied the former angel in his overly literal tone. "And no, I haven't taken my pills. I'll bring them to whichever restaurant we have breakfast."

Dean barely stuck one leg into a clean pair of jeans when pounding at the door so loud that he assumed it had to be his brother throwing his enormous weight behind it. But the voice that came afterward was decidedly feminine. "You guys have ten minutes to meet us in the lobby or I'm dragging your asses out by your earlobes! Don't think I can't break into a motel room! Let's go!" Although Wilhelmina's voice sounded exceptionally harsh that morning, Dean snickered, recognizing that her level of sass was directly proportional to how much she accepted a person in her life.

"Keep your pants on, lady! I'm coming!"

A messy mop of dark hair poked out from the bathroom door with a toothbrush running back and forth in his mouth. "What's going on between you and her lately?"

He flashed a cocky smile as he threw the shirt over his head. "Mutual understanding. We get each other now. People like us talk that way and it means we like each other. If we start being overly nice to each other? That's when you should worry."

"Humans…." muttered Castiel, rolling his eyes and retreating into the bathroom.

"Hey! Don't forget you're one of us now!" Dean laughed.

*****

The family dressed comfortably with workout clothes for most of them (although Dean didn't actually own any workout clothes) and swimsuits underneath. They spent the day hiking through the Ozarks toward the springs, taking the long way around on Rhiannon's suggestion so she could collect certain things for a protective ritual. She didn't explain what the protective ritual was about but Dean trusted her to know what was best before messing with anything demonic in that poor child.

Ahead, the three women walked together, chatting as they tended to do. Castiel took it upon himself to carry Logan for a little while, giving Wilhelmina a rest, and Dean couldn't help but think how strange it looked for a former angel to carry a demon child. It looked no different than any man talking to a nearly year-old baby with animated gestures and a playful voice. Yet, the two of them were natural enemies. They would continue to be natural enemies if the demon cure in Dean's backpack didn't work for him. Pressure never let go. If it didn't work, it meant that so many other children in the world to have any hope for a normal life either. They would be forced into fighting angels by control placed upon them through their unholy parentage.

"Hey, hang back a little bit," Sam said discreetly at his side. "I looked up those addresses you gave me. They're both nightclubs owned by the same person, one in Los Angeles and the other in Manhattan. If I had to guess, I'd say the person who owns those clubs is a demon working for the King and Queen. I seriously doubt the actual King and the actual Queen would find real estate paperwork and go through licensing fees and all that stuff themselves. They would have one of their courtiers, as the demon called it to you, do it for them so they could stay hidden."

Dean nodded, taking in the information. He decided not to tell the others about the new information yet, especially Castiel, because his desire to protect Dean from further exposure to Hell put him at risk for seriously cavalier and dangerous behavior. So he confided in Sam alone, a shared confidence that the brothers hadn't enjoyed them quite a while. Sam never said so but Dean could tell he missed aspects of the old days and how they worked cases together even if he had grown so accustomed to his new life in Maine that he actually loved it. Dean understood. He would always miss certain aspects of their former life but he reluctantly had to admit that life in Maine was a satisfying one. Whenever they could, he assumed they would share confidences and work cases together like the old days but after this one was over, he guessed the Winchester boys would grow up a little bit and crave a sense of normalcy that their mother wanted for them. For the time being, though, they had demons to kill.

"Have we got any contacts in California that we trust?"

"Well," replied Sam, shrugging, "there's Malone up around San Francisco."

"That's a hell of a lot closer than we are. What do you think?" Dean looked to his brother as they ducked under rather low hanging tree branches.

"I'll see if he's around California right now. Least he can go down and check out the place. See if there's any evidence of demonic activity," Sam said. "There's a chance that were being sent on a wild goose chase with this whole thing, you know."

"I know. That's why for not packing up the family for a cross-country road trip just yet," agreed Dean with a clever grin. "Check out the LA club and then we'll figure out if we should check out the New York club after that." He shook himself as if a chill shot through him. "It's so skeevy, you know, humans dancing and drinking and doing whatever else in club owned by demons. For all we know, every club in this country could be owned by Hell. Makes me glad I was never a dancer. Straight up drinking, pool, and darts in smoky bars are the way to go."

The younger brother chuckled and rolled his eyes. "You never know. All the bars could be owned by demons too."

"Yeah, true."

An image of the succubus rubbing up against him in the alley behind the Portland bar flashed through his mind, making him feel violated all over again. It bothered him even after all that time to know that a man as big and intimidating as him could be assaulted by a woman. But she was no ordinary woman though. She was a demon trying to breed, like all of the other demons trying to breed out there at that very moment. Succubi and incubi raped men and women in equal measure everywhere, but no one remembered that Dean Winchester had been one of them almost caught at the wrong end of a succubi attack.

His eyes focused ahead on the trail to Charlie's bright red hair swaying in the breeze with her gait. She'd been through the same thing and the trauma sent her to a much darker place but at least she seemed to be coming out of it now. In large part, she had Rhiannon to thank for that. And on the same token, Dean had Castiel to thank for keeping him together mentally after his attack. He didn't feel like he had a right to feel violated though, not in the same way that Charlie felt violated. She was a woman. She needed protecting much more than he did. If he hadn't been so drunk that night, he could have seen that succubus coming a mile away and protected himself properly. If he hadn't been an idiot and fought with Castiel that night, he would never have driven all the way to Portland to that stupid bar.

But Dean shook himself internally, wondering why he spiraled back to that night so suddenly right there on that hiking trail in the Ozarks. Sam only mentioned the possibility of bars being owned by demons just as much as nightclubs being owned by them also. It had nothing to do with him. So what – he'd been attacked by a succubus. They'd both been attacked by a lot of other things in the past that never stuck to them in the same way. Something was different about a sexual attack and it bothered him right down to the marrow of his bones. It wasn't about sex at all. It was about power. That succubus tried to replay his personal power, his choice in the matter.

"Come on, slowpokes!"

The voice made him refocused ahead again. Charlie's smiling face looked back as Sam laughed and jogged ahead, catching up with them, completely unaware that Dean had been jerked back to such a dark night. When Castiel looked back as well, his eye immediately fell on Dean and a twitch of his brow told Dean immediately that he picked up on something amiss.

It was about him that day. It was about baby Logan. So Dean kicked his own ass and plastered a smile on his face as he jogged up behind his brother.

*****

It really wasn't that impressive, the springs posting such important healing powers. In fact, it had been taken over thoroughly by tourists and perfectly manicured sidewalks bordered the beautiful bluish green clear waters.

They had waited in the woods until the National Park Service closed the hiking trails and the springs for the night. Whenever park rangers swept a section of their trail, they simply moved to another section until clearing out tourists ceased. It really wasn't that difficult to hide out from them, even with a baby in tow. Logan dozed peacefully for most of the evening, draped over his mother's arm like a limp rag doll, and didn't even notice the crime that family committed.

"How do we want to do this?" They had gotten all the way there but nobody really had a plan yet.

"Well, the important thing is keeping as many of us out of the water as possible. I don't want whatever makes the healing property too contaminated by so many of us in the water at the same time," explained Rhiannon with a glance back at the spring.

Castiel nodded, apparently agreeing. "Dean and I will stay out unless we're needed."

And although Rhiannon seem to agree with that plan, her gaze shifted over to Dean for a moment. "You know, I don't really know what I'm doing either."

"Yeah," replied Dean, "but you know more about ritual in general than the rest of us."

She took a breath as if studying herself and extended her hand. "Let me have the bottle then."

Dean swung the backpack off of his shoulder and dropped to the ground so he could unzip the flap and remove the bottle. He kept it between his sweatshirt and an extra pair of jeans hoping that it wouldn't break along the hike. Luckily none of the cure leaked from the bottle, it seemed.

Closer to the edge of the spring, Wilhelmina handed Logan off to Sam and began stripping out of her t-shirt and yoga pants. They all knew better than to suggest that someone else should go into the spring with her child, so they let her do as she pleased. She wore a simple blue bikini edged in white but nothing about that bikini suggested anything provocative. Dean noticed that she covered her hips and her upper thighs with her bottoms cut into an older style that covered more skin. A fleeting thought passed through his mind wondering if she was covering something about herself that she didn't like that it wasn't his place. He reminded himself that he wasn't that man anymore, the man who eyeballed women just because he could.

As soon as Sam handed over Logan again, he took his turn to strip out of his t-shirt and khaki shorts. He came prepared with his swim trunks under his clothes like the rest of them. At first Dean wanted to protest about him participating but he sucked the words back into his mouth, realizing that Sam couldn't possibly be talked out of it. The two of them were attached at the hip those days and anything that affected her child seemed to affect him in spite of his occasional discomfort and uncertainty about actually taking care of children. Sam wasn't exactly paternal. He tried though.

"I think this could get pretty ugly before it's over," said Rhiannon, mincing no words about it. Dean admired that. Covering it over with fluff wouldn't do them any favors. "Sam, I want you to help Wilhelmina hold him still. Once I start, I won't stop. He might scream. He might cry. Those are the easy reactions."

"What do you mean?" For a split second, Wilhelmina clutched Logan closer to her chest in her instinctive motherly way.

Charlie came to her side and placed a hand on her forearm. "It means he could start fighting back with his demonic powers." She spoke as if she had been prepared. It occurred to Dean that Rhiannon probably told her all of the possibilities beforehand since she was apparently a neophyte in the witch community. "If this works, you'll only have to see his demonic powers once. It'll be over after that and you won't ever see him that way again. So you just have to be strong and get through this tonight."

"It'll be okay," Sam added in his tenderest voice. "I'm right here to help."

As they comforted Wilhelmina, Rhiannon took the opportunity to approach Dean one last time. She lowered her voice discreetly. "The demon king told you to put the oil on his forehead, hands, and feet, right?"

"Yeah, and he said the demon part of him would perch from his body. I'm guessing that's the ugly part," replied Dean just as discreetly.

The Massachusetts witch nodded. He watched an intense repose come over her the way she did whenever she began a ritual. Without a word, she left him and rejoined Wilhelmina, Sam, and little Logan, so unaware of what was about to happen to him. Dean honestly wondered if it would work. If it didn't, the child would remain half demon. But a worse scenario came to his mind involving having to put the child out of his misery, which crossed so many lines that the Winchesters had never crossed before. It was, after all, just a baby and not a horse that could be taken out back and shot. They had to do something for him. They had to keep going and never stop.

Sam went into the water first and held out his hands for Wilhelmina to join him, keeping her steady as she carried the baby. Neither of them reacted to the healing springs but Logan whimpered and kicked his feet at the water when he encountered the cool waves. Tense, all of them stopped for a moment and looked at each other as if it had already begun, but it was, in reality, probably just a baby reacting to cold water.

They faced Wilhelmina, who spoke the words in a language Dean didn't understand. She often turned to that foreign tongue when she did her magickal work but he never asked what it meant. Part of him didn't think it was any of his business.

Rhiannon dipped her hand into the spring water and drizzled it over Logan, quite merely looking like a Christian baptism, but the foreign words spelling from her mouth sounded more like a mystical blessing. The infant's mother instinctively leaned him back and gave her full access to his person. Just as instinctively, Sam came forward and cupped his hand under Logan's neck and around his bottom. Together they held him afloat in the water, never speaking a word to each other but moving in unison as if the entire ritual had been well rehearsed. Instead, Rhiannon and the others did the best they could without real instructions.

"With the light, we fight darkness. With the light, we fight darkness. With the light, we fight darkness." The witch chanted that phrase over and over again as she sprinkled water over the baby. Dean hardly noticed her switch to English but he kept himself back away from the scene, knowing he could be a distraction for his father. She continued, "With the light, we fight darkness. With the light, we fight darkness. With the light, we fight darkness."

Still wearing her knee length white crochet dress (it seems like she had a closet full of similar articles of clothing), Rhiannon waded into the water up to her knees. White fabric billowed around her with the current and she began to take on the look of some kind of mystical fairy. The wind caught several tendrils of her long, curly, dark blonde hair, which struck Dean as strange since the entire day prior had scarcely seen the slightest breeze pass through the Ozarks. Now all the sudden, as she commenced attempting to expel the demon heritage from the child, the wind answered her call.

Resolute and strong, she reached out to Charlie, who had been keeping watch over the bottle, and accepted the cure from her redheaded love. The bravery and Charlie's face was just a mask and Dean knew it. She was just as afraid of seeing Logan manifest demonic powers as he was, not that either of them would show their fear. Dean was the one standing far off on the shore. Charlie – that girl was the brave one – as she stood up to her knees in the water alongside Rhiannon, amongst Sam and Wilhelmina. In truth, Dean didn't know why he stayed back and perfectly silent, almost like an animal playing dead before a predator. Logan was just a baby even if he did come from an incubus father. He reached for Castiel's hand quite impulsively and their fingers laced together without a word.

Rhiannon's eyes turned up to Sam, knowing he had utter control over his emotions than Wilhelmina, saying, "Keep him still. Don't let him get away."

Sam nodded. His jaw tensed and his feet shifted on the floor of the springs.

The very moment Rhiannon popped the cork on the bottle, its contents began to glow white-hot, yet blue all at the same time. Dean recognized that peculiar heavenly color as that of angelic light. He felt Castiel's fingers tightened around his and with a quick glance over to his former angel, he sensed recognition and longing in those eyes. It must have been like ripping out one of his own organs to lose his grace. Now to see the grace of another angel being used as a cure for a child fathered by an incubus, it must have felt like ripping out his grace all over again.

She touched glowing liquid to her fingertips and didn't hesitate once as she first touched Logan's forehead. A squirm, flailed, and a splash in the water combined with a painful baby screech hardly distracted the lot of them from watching the demon cure part off of his forehead in a little whisper of smoke. At first, they all silently wondered, it seemed, if the oil had any effect whatsoever but Logan's eyes opened revealing copper colored tears. Streaks of conference pulled from his eyes into the spring water, dissolving immediately as if the spring itself devoured the evil directly from him like nourishment. Sam never wavered. No Winchester would. Wilhelmina, on the other hand, could scarcely contain her fear for her child, which came naturally to any mother in her position.

"Keep going," Sam murmured as he adjusted his grip on Logan.

And so Rhiannon touched his forehead again with the healing oil, making him cry out in agony once again. Each time she touched him, the pain appeared to intensify until Wilhelmina couldn't take it anymore and angry tears spilled from her eyes into the spring water around her. Dean dared not speak up but he noticed each time her tears dripped into the water, fog rose up from the ripples.

Moving on to the baby's hands, Rhiannon rubbed more of the oil into his soft skin. Burn marks bubbled up along his flesh and ruptured, spilling copper sludge into the spring. Reacting to it seemed futile, though Dean knew each of them recoiled at such ugly sights. He and Sam were hunters, of course, and had seen everything horrible in the universe, but watching a baby's flesh pile and split open along his little arms probably took the cake for the worst possible thing they had ever seen. It took all of Wilhelmina's resolution to be there for her child to keep holding onto him there in the water as the copper sludge snaked its way out of her child and into the water. It looked like its own living organism, that manifestation of evil forced into an innocent life. Dean tried with all his might to make himself go deaf to that baby crying and screaming in agony but he knew the sounds would leave a scar on his soul forever.

Something in Rhiannon told her, apparently, that time is of the essence. She suddenly grabbed Charlie's hand and dumped some of the oil into her palm. With a few gestures that Dean couldn't see, Charlie suddenly found herself rubbing Logan's naked tummy with such a wild, fearful light in her eyes. Dean knew she wanted to be brave for Rhiannon but helping her rubbed oil onto a baby that would force his demon heritage out of him merely pushed her to the brink. She carried on, however, and swallowed away her emotions as his tummy flesh ripped open as if he was being burned alive.

And his mother, his poor mother, not knowing what to do with herself began singing in her grandmother's tongue. A low, melancholic, prayerful song filled the gully rising up around them as if nature itself created a place that would contain the evil absorbed over the centuries by those holy waters. Wilhelmina saying in the native language of people as if she had been speaking it her entire life, though Dean knew she hadn't. Fear yanked it out of her like instinct and he was thankful for something lyrical and lovely over the crying child. It continued on that way for nearly an hour. Sam never said a word but held the child as still as he could in the water, knowing his mother could not make herself put him through that kind of pain. He did it for her. He did it for the child in himself to had been made part demon by force once before and needed people like them to yank him out of it.

Slowly, Logan's agony died away, absorbed by the rocks, the grass, the trees, and the wind as if it had never happened to him at all. Together, Charlie and Rhiannon realized no more copper sludge left his body and so they set the bottle aside and began pouring water over his body with her cupped hands. Neither of them seemed to consciously know what they were doing but they moved as if possessed to cleanse Logan's little body after the awful ritual.

"Open your eyes," Sam murmured gently to Wilhelmina. "Baby, open your eyes. It's over. His wounds are healing. Look, they're healing right now. It's okay. Don't cry. It's all over now."

Sniveling quite miserably, Wilhelmina forced herself to open her eyes and peer down at her baby. Little flecks of copper still dried on his skin like someone had flicked a nail polish brush on him but each time Charlie and Rhiannon poured spring water over him, all evidence of the demonic washed away. Most importantly, he cried like a normal baby with salty, clear tears and not a single shred of darkness.

The second Rhiannon nodded, Sam lifted the baby out of the water and thrust him at Wilhelmina's chest. She wept openly, wrapping her arms around him as if clutching a newborn baby for the first time. He even looked like a newborn baby, wet and wriggling against her chest, as Sam kept a hand on his back. Only then did he let out such a deep breath, his eyes averted, and Dean knew that the experience left a deep wound on his soul as well. Like all Winchesters, they never showed their fear and then never wavered under pressure, but as soon as it was over, it hit them like a couple of out-of-control eighteen wheelers.

"Holy water," Sam eventually mouthed to Dean so Wilhelmina couldn't hear.

"I'll get it," offered Castiel quietly as he rummaged through Dean's backpack until he found Bobby's old flask. He passed it down to Sam without actually getting into the water and immediately came right back to Dean's side.

A moment of hesitation took hold of Sam as Dean watched, knowing this was the real moment of truth. His younger brother poured a bit of the holy water into his palm and reluctantly placed his hand on Logan's back again. Wilhelmina was so occupied with clutching her child that she didn't realize what they were doing until it was done. Not even a whimper. No flinch. No copper eyes. Nothing. Just a child.

Dean swore he heard a collective sigh of relief pass through all of them in that moment. For now, they won one of the biggest battles. The horse still raged on, but they could count that day as a victory. They gave a child back to his mother.


	37. To Summon Or Not To Summon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Domesticity affects the Winchesters in different ways. While Dean struggles with the lack of excitement as well as the fear for Castiel's life, Sam decides it's time to change his living arrangements with Wilhelmina and Logan. News arrives from California about the nightclub allegedly connected to the different levels of demonic royalty. Connections deepen as the Winchesters plan just how they're going to hunt down and kill the King of the Incubi and the Queen of the Succubi. Will they do it with Crowley's help or not?

Four days home and Dean still hadn't heard a thing from the California hunters about the nightclub allegedly connected with demon hierarchy. Maybe they went out there and found nothing. Maybe the demons ate them for lunch. Maybe they blew off the Winchesters and never went to check it out at all. Who the fuck knew? Dean itched to get into a fight though. He needed to kick some ass and set Castiel up to make the kills that would ensure his safety among angels.

Saturday morning in the house on the peninsula felt altogether too  _normal_. A heavy cloud of coffee floated upstairs and Dean heard Castiel shuffling around the kitchen. There had to be a monster that needed ganking out there somewhere to make an otherwise domestic weekend worthwhile. Dean threw on a t-shirt and haphazardly tossed the comforter over the bed. Instead of hunting, he expected nothing more exciting than cleaning out the gutters and raking up the yard. Fall leaves fell like a plague over Maine and he wondered how long it would be before the first snow fell.

"Hey," he muttered. "Is there coffee?"

"There's always coffee," replied Castiel, thrusting a mug in his hand. The former angel didn't bother to get dressed, it seemed, wearing a stolen unbuttoned flannel shirt and stolen black boxers.

Dean eyed his clothes on Castiel's body, amused. "You oughta put pants on at least. My underwear doesn't do much to hide what you're packin' there, Cas. Don't get the girls squeamish."

"They're not up yet." He opened a new box of Raisin Bran and poured himself a bowl.

Then it hit Dean just what he meant. "They?" he asked, peering around the corner at the untouched living room couch. Rhiannon had been sleeping there every night but the blanket still sat neatly folded on top of a pillow. "Rhi didn't go to bed?"

"Oh," chuckled Castiel, "she most certainly went to bed."

A few seconds of a dumb blank stare went by until it hit Dean. "Oh, man. I didn't need to know any of that. At all. It's like my sister nailing my kinda-sorta ex--" He stopped short.

Whipping around, Castiel's blue eyes squinted and his mouth thinned out, clearly jealous, even though Dean thought he knew that about him and Rhiannon already. "It was a million years ago. We were kids." Leaning closer, he smirked and dropped a kiss on the tip of Castiel's nose. He teased, "You're cute when you're jealous."

"I hate you," Castiel groused under his breath on the way out of the kitchen, though Dean noticed a smile fighting for control of his mouth. "Is there anyone you haven't had intercourse with?"

"Hey, first of all, only high school health teachers call it intercourse. Second of all, we never went that far," argued Dean, stalking after him.

*****

A new light filled Sam's cramped apartment since he brought Logan home from the Ozarks. He glanced over the kitchen island at Wilhelmina lying on the couch with her bare feet propped on the arm. As she held Logan overhead, he kicked at the air and giggled incessantly at her cooing motherly babble. Until the little boy was cured, Sam had only seen Wilhelmina take care of him but never actually played with him. The last few days, though, everything changed. She blossomed as a mother and, in turn, as a woman despite still having that razor sharp tongue.

"Such a big boy," she cooed at Logan, holding him overhead. "Say Mommy, I'm gonna respect all women when I get big. I'm not gonna be a bad boy anymore. I'm big and strong and I'm learning to laugh at everything. Can you laugh for me, baby?"

"Notice anything weird since the springs?" Sam asked as he cracked eggs into a glass bowl.

"Yeah. He laughs," replied Wilhelmina, letting the baby down on her chest and cuddling him beneath her chin. "His eyes are different. I mean, not the copper stuff, but like we gave his soul back or something. He looks at me different now. I don't even know how to explain it." Her dark eyes turned toward Sam in the kitchen. "If you fuckin' judge me and laugh at me for going soft, I'm climbing over those fancy eggs of yours and snapping off your lovely, beautiful dick. You got me?"

Sam chuckled and retorted, "Watch your language. That boy's gonna be talking soon."

"You hear that?" she asked Logan as she patted his bottom. "He thinks he's an expert on babies. You'll talk when you're good and ready."

The mention of being good and ready brought Sam back to thoughts that rumbled around his head all through the previous night, and the one before that too. He whipped the eggs into a pale yellow froth, possibly beating them at little too hard, but Wilhelmina wasn't the kind of woman to do backflips over cohabitation discussions. Still, he needed to talk about it.

"Hey, so um, things are kinda cramped here," Sam began carefully.

"Yeah...."

"I was thinking of looking for a bigger place," he continued a step further.

Wilhelmina looked his way again, ignoring Logan as he chewed on her necklace. "Well, I'm still looking for a place I can afford."

"I know," he conceded with a shrug, "but we're already pretty much living together as it is. What if we looked for a new place, you know, together? Maybe rent a house away from the city where it's cheaper. Get a yard for Logan to run around." He braced himself for flying lamps.

Silence wedged between the kitchen and living room. Sam immediately regretted bringing it up but they had things to work out because money ran too thin.

"I dunno, Sam," she said defensively. "There's a big difference between changing a diaper once in a while and being a dad to my kid. You and me dating's great and all but you're asking about the kind of commitment that you might regret. You're in the sex haze, honey. Everything seems magical and perfect when the sex is new and great, but reality's gonna set in and you're gonna regret getting tangled up with a woman who has a baby and no money."

"You know a lot about my own opinions before I do," he replied.

"Not just you," she pointed out coolly. "All men."

Sam clenched his jaw, irritated. "I'm not even gonna dignify that with a response," he said, turning his back and pouring the beaten eggs into a hot skillet on the stove. "You piss me off on an hourly basis but I'm happy being with you and Logan. I want to be together."

"Well, look at that. We have something in common. You piss me off on an hourly basis too, babydoll." A sigh rose from the couch and she thought about it for a while, it seemed. "I'm messy. Like, I'd rather buy new panties than do laundry."

"So? I'm a neat freak." Scrambled eggs slowly solidified as Sam worked them over with a spatula.

"I snore when I have allergies."

"And?"

"I bite my nails but I don't pick up the broken bits."

"Someone call the police," Sam sassed.

Another irritated huff. "I'm gonna get a puppy and it's gonna be a little one. It's gonna yap and poop but I want it."

Sam chuckled and shook his head as he scooped equal measures of eggs into two plates. He let her ramble out everything negative that she could think of herself, knowing exactly what she was trying to do. He stooped into the fruit bin of his refrigerator and grabbed the plastic containers of blueberries and raspberries, as well as the tub of whipped cream. She ticked off three or four more negative traits as he made two bowls of cream, fruit, and granola to go with the plates of eggs.

"And I fart in my sleep," she added as an afterthought.

"You think I don't know that?" asked Sam, bringing breakfast to the living room for the pair of them. He pinched her chin in his fingers and tilted her face up to his gaze. "You're doing a bad job of turning me off. Might as well give it up. If you don't wanna live together, then just say so, but I can't think of a reason why we shouldn't. If we can survive the crap we've already been through, I'm pretty sure we're stuck with each other. So stop wearing panties to avoid laundry, bite your nails, snore, fart, and let your puppy poop all over the floor. I don't care. You think you're a terrible human being, but from where I stand, you're tough and funny and you got me to wanna take care of a kid. I used to hate kids. Now my apartment's full of obnoxious noisy toys and I like it. You're not gonna turn me off, so quit trying to push me away."

Wilhelmina squirmed upright on the couch and let Logan down on the floor. She huffed like a little girl, yet utterly a woman capable of snapping off a dick in a split second, as she put it.

"Fine, we can live together," she muttered as she stabbed her eggs.

Triumphantly, Sam smiled and cupped a hand around his ear. "What was that?"

"I said we can live together!" Laughing, Wilhelmina's head tipped back in exasperation and she popped a blueberry in her mouth. "God, I hate you. I'm getting my damn puppy though."

"Of course you are," Sam replied as he tucked into his breakfast.

*****

The sight of Sam and Wilhelmina pushing Logan back and forth on a playground swing seemed so strange to Dean. He shut off the car, missing the rumble of the Impala around his body, and watched his brother. The kid squealed and his legs wiggled gleefully as he swung between Wilhelmina and Sam like a pendulum. Sam laughed at his exuberance, entirely comfortable there at the park, yet still looking so out of place at that enormous height. He could have been a jungle gym.

"Hey, broody, are we gonna sit in the car all day?" Charlie piped up from the back seat.

Beside Dean, a smile from Castiel warmed the passenger seat. "Leave him alone. All he ever wanted was for Sam to have a normal life. It must feel strange for him to see it now."

A cloud of floral perfume surrounded Dean from the seat directly behind him. Rhiannon squeezed his shoulder, saying, "You have a normal life now too. It's good to see."

"Not quite," Dean replied. "Still got stuff to do. Let's go."

He didn't have the remote ability to let himself relax knowing angels still hunted Castiel and waited for him to fail at eliminating the King of the Incubi and the Queen of the Succubi. Interrupting his brother's obvious new family life brought back such unpleasant memories of the last time Sam tried to strike out on his own. Jess ended up burning on the ceiling like their mother and he never finished law school. Of course they never talked about it but Dean always felt like the derailment of Sam's life had been his fault. They were tiptoeing down that road again.

"You look like you need a happy ending," commented Wilhelmina as they approached.

Dean's brows furrowed, taken aback by her mouth once again. "Like the massage parlor kind or the storybook kind?"

"Eh. Whatever." Her shoulders hunched up in a noncommittal shrug.

Stifled laughter choked out of Sam, much to Dean's chagrin. A wordless gesture to Logan apparently let Wilhelmina know that he had business and she should watch him, making her nod back. He followed Dean to a nearby picnic table and they sat down with Castiel, Rhiannon, and Charlie. From a leather bag, Sam produced his laptop.

"I got an email from Malone," he told the table.

"Since when do hunters email?" Dean asked skeptically.

Sam's brow arched, amused. "They're Californians."

"Right...." The older brother rolled his eyes. " _Californians_...."

"I don't understand that reference," Castiel told them, "but go on."

Flipping open his laptop, Sam popped in a wifi hotspot and his fingers moved swiftly over the keys. "Okay. So get this. The nightclub isn't a nightclub. It's a high end stripclub where a lot of celebrities and athletes go because the girls are supposed to be discreet. But--" he flipped the laptop around so the others could see it, "--remember this NBA guy? He got one of the strippers at this club pregnant and it was a big scandal because he was married. His wife stood by him because he said he doesn't remember doing ... you know ... impregnating the stripper. He said he felt like he was drugged that night."

"Like a date rape drug," guessed Charlie. "The one that got me was telling me to have a drink right before he got me."

"I was so drunk, I doubt I would've known if I was drugged by the one that tried to get me," Dean admitted. His shoulders rolled, rather uncomfortable sitting there and discussing his attack. "So we're thinking this is the succubi lair of doom, huh?"

Castiel never looked Dean's way but the hunter's thigh warmed under the table as the former angel's hand rubbed protectively. He relaxed.

"Could be. We don't have a smoking gun yet but the New York place is owned by the same people as the California place," Sam said, turning the laptop back to himself and searching for another file. "Both places are owned by a guy named Dominic Rome."

Rhiannon chortled. "That's not a fake name at all."

"I know, right? Might as well stamp evil genius on his forehead," laughed Charlie in an unobtrusive tone, never forgetting the dangers they each faced by sniffing that trail.

"Tell 'em who Dominic knows!" chimed Wilhelmina from the swings.

"I got it," Sam shot back over his shoulder.

That got a chuckle out of Dean, mumbling, "Man, you are so whipped."

"Shut up," groused Sam across the table.

"Who does this man know?" Castiel asked, bringing the subject back to business where it belonged.

"Well," Sam replied, "as it turns out, Dominic's real name is Laurent Rodriguez, which sounds even more fake than Dominic Rome, but apparently the guy's Cajun. I mean swampwater backwoods Cajun. Except he got out of Louisiana in high school and went on to college, testing at genius levels. He got a degree in archaeology and for a while he was a professor at NYU until a rival got promoted over him. Then he quit and got into commercial real estate."

Dean already knew. He just fucking knew it. "And the rival would be...."

"You guessed it. Professor Nadira Zaman herself, the crazy demon queen cult lady," said Sam with a deep sigh.

"Son of a bitch," muttered Dean, mimicking his brother. He rubbed his eyes, suddenly tired in spite of the itch to fight. "Okay, so are we going back to New York then?" A fight with demons in such a heavily populated part of the country didn't bode well for flying under the radar but Dean would do whatever was necessary to end it.

"Yep," Sam replied. "The girls have to come with us."

"Why?" questioned Charlie tensely.

"If the California spot is full of succubi, then the New York spot would logically be full of incubi." The regretful expression Sam offered meant he understood how impossible it was to ask her to be bait. "It'll be too obvious if Dean, Cas, and I go into a place designed to attract women of childbearing age. We're gonna need women to go in and have a look around--see what we're dealing with here. We don't have any other leads to the King and Queen right now."

Fingertips flew to Charlie's temples and she rubbed the stress from her skull as Sam laid out the situation. Dean knew exactly what she felt--just like bait, a mouse on a string for a cat that already swatted too many times before--but he also knew that nothing he could say would bring her comfort. Still, Rhiannon tried, just like Castiel tried with him.

"Look Sam, I'll go in," Rhiannon volunteered. "Don't make Charlie."

"Whatever you decide," he said with his hands raised in surrender.

The squeaky swing came to a stop and Wilhelmina pulled Logan out of the baby basket. "I'm going too," she announced. As she straightened her son's jacket, she took a seat between Sam and Rhiannon with Logan on her lap. "Between Rhi and me, we should be fine. I took incubus bullshit for years. I can take one more night for the greater good. It's okay, Charlie. You stay with the boys and take care of Logan. Cool?"

A shaky nod answered her. "Thanks."

"And," Wilhelmina said, turning to Dean, "I'm going with you when you summon that bearded demon."

"I don't th--"

"--Nope. Not gonna work. Don't coddle me like one of your precious damsels in distress. I don't give two shits whether you say yes to his deal or not but I'm going for the halfbreed kids. Their cause is my cause. You got me?"

Arguing would just waste time. He knew she'd just follow him whether he let her come along or not, or she'd find a way to summon Crowley on her own. That was a lot more dangerous than him being there to keep a lid on her mouth in case she pissed off Crowley and he killed her. The last thing Sam needed was another dead girlfriend, especially one with a baby left behind that he'd feel obligated to raise.

"Fine," Dean grumbled through clenched teeth. "Y'know, you really are a big pain in the ass."

"I think you meant to say I kick ass, pretty boy, and I do." She grinned.

"Are you gonna say yes to Crowley's deal?" asked Sam.

"You know I hate working with these douchebags," he replied, "so I'm turning the tables on him. Either he cures Cas of his immunodeficiency or no dice."

Wilhelmina let out a long whistle. "Let's just hope your balls are bigger than his, huh?"

"We're Winchesters." Nothing more needed to be said.


	38. Dancing Queens

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In New York City again, the Winchester brothers bring Charlie, Rhiannon, and Wilhelmina for incubi bait. They believe the King of the Incubi owns a Manhattan nightclub and sending the ladies to gather intel works better than Dean and Sam trying to get inside. Just before leaving for the nightclub, though, Castiel calls Dean from their home in Maine. He shares disturbing news about his favorite little preschool student, Kayleigh, that changes everything for the Winchester family.

"Was it really necessary to get a hotel so far from the target?" Sam complained, having been in a foul mood all day. "I don't like this. If the girls get into trouble, we're too far away to really help them."

"Getting too close will put the girls in more danger," argued Dean.

"Hey dickheads, we're not  _girls_ ," Wilhelmina shouted from the bathroom. "We're  _women_ and we can snap your dicks off while you're busy ogling our jiggly parts!" Her spiked heels stomped across the tiled floor and she leaned against the bathroom door, striking a seductive pose. A peach cocktail dress with a black belt accentuated her figure. "See? It's all structurally designed to render you stupid. You think I wear this trash for my own amusement? Please. A short skirt and painful heels make you idiots leave me bigger tips and all this will help me kick demon ass. Let's go, Rhiannon!"

"I'm coming. I don't have grace in heels like you do." Rhiannon wobbled on uncertain legs into the room, wearing a black bandage dress that left absolutely nothing to the imagination. Her full figure stood out next to Wilhelmina's long, willowy shape, but she lacked uptown attitude. "Do I look too desperate?"

"No, honey. We both look just desperate enough," replied Wilhelmina.

The corner of Sam's mouth pulled back, too amused to hide it but not willing to get the crap beat out of him with a beaded clutch bag for laughing out loud.

Dean, however, approached it far more pragmatically. "Remember, don't be too confident. Incubi are attracted to miserable easy targets."

The room lock jiggled and flashed green, allowing Charlie inside without announcement. She wore an electric blue minidress and gold heels. Most shockingly, nearly all of her bright red hair disappeared. It wasn't even pinned back or anything. It was just  _gone_. Her cool presence stopped everything in the room and she stared back at each of them as if she expected that reaction. Her hair swept forward and swooped to the side, cropped short around her ears and the back of her head. Gold earrings dangled from her lobes like tiny chimes.

"Um...." Sam coughed.

Dean threw a pillow at him. "Real smooth."

"Look, let's just not make a big deal outta this, okay?" Charlie told them as her hands nervously touched her hips. "I decided I'm going too. If I don't face 'em...." Eyes darted to one side and she seemed to shake herself from the inside. "I'm just going, okay? Do I look reasonably straight?"

"You look great," Sam attempted again. "You sure though?"

"Yep. Let's get this over with," she mumbled.

Vibration in Dean's pocket alerted him to a phone call. Castiel's picture glowed on the screen. "I gotta take this. It's Cas," he told the rest of them, already headed out into the hallway.

"Oh tell him we miss him," said Charlie.

Outside the room, Dean paced a slow rut into the geometric rug. "Hey."

"Hello, Dean," the former angel greeted.

"Everything cool? You find Kayleigh?" The questions piled out of Dean's mouth in a rush, unaccustomed anymore to Castiel remaining behind while he worked a job. It wasn't supposed to go that way but a panicked call from Jenna informed him that their wheelchair-bound student had been taken into state custody.

"I found her." A heavy sigh filled the line. "Her parents were arrested for possession with intent to distribute. That's--"

"--I know what that is."

"Okay. They got caught with a kilo of cocaine in the trunk of their car. Well, her father fired a gun at the arresting officer and her mother attacked him with a steak knife. Needless to say, both parents won't be getting out of jail anytime soon and Kayleigh was taken to a state home in Portland. Jenna and I found her there. It's not a good place, Dean. There are too many children and not enough attentive care for a child like her with cerebral palsy."

It was Dean's turn for a heavy sigh. He slouched against a wall beside the hotel room door and pinched the tension out of the bridge of his nose. "What about her other relatives?"

"The aunt won't take her and the grandmother's too old," Castiel said regretfully. "I've been told by her social worker--who has forty-three other children to place, by the way--that finding a foster home for her will be almost impossible because of her special needs. She could grow up in one of these state homes."

"I'm hearing a 'but' in here somewhere," Dean said. He already knew what Castiel intended to say.

"But a new foster family can be created for her," said Castiel.

"Cas...." Stuttering sounds bubbled from Dean's mouth until he found the words. "Why not Jenna?"

"Kayleigh didn't bond with her the way she bonded with me. You've seen it for yourself. Right now this child needs familiarity and security. Her parents are gone, most likely forever. The social worker doesn't foresee them regaining custody even if they get out of jail in the next few years." The former angel showed his compassion so thoroughly with his impassioned speech that Dean found himself getting swayed in the we can do anything direction. With a pause, Castiel's voice shifted to something more private. "Dean, think back to her age. Your mother died and your father was little better than an occasional visitor. Would you have wanted to live in a state home or would you rather have had someone who knew you, like Bobby, keep you safe?"

"I get what you're saying, Cas," he muttered reluctantly, loathing to admit exactly which nerves Castiel hammered. "We can't just take a kid right now. Have you forgotten, Cas? Angels are after your ass and if you don't kill the King and Queen, they'll kill you. That was the deal. You really wanna bring an innocent kid into this bullshit?"

"No," he answered immediately, "and I won't. It'll take three months to get certified as a foster parent. I couldn't take her today even if I wanted."

Another heavy sigh left Dean's lungs. "You really wanna go through with this, huh?"

"I do."

"Damn it."

"You don't sound angry, Dean," he accused.

"I'm not. I'm ... I'm ... hell--"

"--You're nervous."

"Yeah." As he spoke, the hotel room door swung open and a trio of well-dressed women on the prowl emerged with little clutch bags and lipstick painted just right. "I gotta go, Cas."

"Are you agreeing to it?" Castiel pressed.

"Only if you kill the King and Queen and get the angels off your ass."

"Fine."

"Fuck," Dean cursed under his breath. "We need a bigger house."

"Yes," replied Castiel patiently.

"Goddamn it."

"Is this how you'd behave if I was using a female vessel and I became pregnant?" asked Castiel point blank in spite of the ridiculousness of the scenario he presented.

"Probably."

"Understood. Building a family frightens you." He said it as if making a checklist of all things that made Dean skittish.

"They're leaving without me," Dean said. "I'll call you after the girls check out the nightclub."

"We're  _not girls_!" barked the trio in unison.

*****

The old days rushed back to Dean in a smoky dark bar seated across from his brother. Sam, despite his size, sat deep in a corner and shadows shrouded his body--and most importantly--his face. Demons knew the Winchesters better than angels did. It kept the Winchesters at a safer three block distance from the nightclub the girls-- _women_ \--investigated at that moment.

They didn't say much. The brothers never did in those places. Waiting in quiet, people watching, never felt uncomfortable or tense for them unless, of course, they were mid-fight. Actually, they hadn't had a fight in months, even if Sam sulked there in the corner with his beer bottle. He didn't like sending Wilhelmina into a veritable demon nest without his protection, not that Dean blamed him. If it had been Casiel, he would have felt the same way. So he let Sam sulk. He didn't try cheering him up. That would only sour his mood even more. The two of them waited for the girls-- _women_ \--to meet them once they learned everything they could about the incubi nightclub. At least the bar they chose had good whiskey.

"Cas okay?" asked Sam, dragging Dean's brain kicking and screaming back to the question of foster parenthood.

"Yeah, he's cool," Dean replied noncommittally.

Slurping from the bottle, Sam studied Dean across the table. He waited as if he knew, he just _knew_ , something was up. Sometimes Dean wondered if he still had that psychic juice in his brain. The silence dug into the trenches of his brain, though, and he understood his brother well enough to know Sam would sit patiently for hours until he spit out what plagued him.

"The kid," stammered Dean reluctantly. "He has a little student in a wheelchair--"

"--Kayleigh," Sam interjected.

"How'd you know that?"

The younger brother scoffed and rolled his eyes to the side just like he did every time Dean asked an obvious question. He said simply, "Cas is my friend too. We talk."

"Oh, right." Feeling stupid, Dean swallowed his whiskey and continued. "Well, Kayleigh got taken from her parents 'cause they got picked up for carting around a kilo of coke in the trunk of their car. So she's in state custody or something. Cas says he and Jenna found her in some state-run home in Portland that sucks for normal kids let alone--"

"--Say able-bodied," Sam interjected again.

"What?"

"Calling kids that can walk 'normal' implies that kids like Kayleigh who can't walk are abnormal. Say able-bodied and say physical disability, learning disability, or developmental disability. Or use the actual name of the person's condition."

Dean gave his brother a blank stare. "Thank you, Captain Politically Correct."

"You gotta know these things if you're gonna be foster parents." With a shrug, Sam gestured to a waitress for another beer.

"What the frick, man?"

It made Sam laugh. He apparently knew the story already but goaded Dean into talking about his damn feelings. "Look, Dean, it's no big deal. Cas called while you were in the shower and he was freaked out about telling you everything, so I helped the guy out a little bit."

"Mh-hmm," hummed the hunter into his drink. "You think it's a bad idea, right?"

"Nope." It sounded so final.

"You're joking."

"Nope, I'm not." Sam leaned closer, emerging from the shadows into dim overhead lights. "Cas is human now. He's talking about becoming a special ed teacher. Nothing in him shows me any hints at all that he wants to go back to the Heaven and Hell stuff anymore. The real question is whether _you're_ done enough to live that kind of life with him, not that you have to completely give up hunting, but you gotta get your mind around the idea that _he's_ done. Family was something he never really had--not like people do. It's not that weird to think he wants to take care of Kayleigh. That's what Cas _does_. He took care of us too. And really, you take care of me. It's what _you_ do. So no, starting a family of your own doesn't sound like a bad idea to me. You guys take care of everything you touch."

"Fuck, I hate it when you make sense," muttered Dean. "I'm having another drink and you're not telling Cas."

"It'll be your last one," Sam ordered. "I told Cas I'd keep you under control."

"Terrific." Sighing, Dean dropped his forehead on his forearm stretched across the table. "I don't wanna have a kid and then have angels kill Cas if we don't find the King and Queen. I might--I mean I can do it _with_ him, but not alone."

"Yep. I know. He knows too." Sam snapped at the waitress and, Dean guessed, ordered him that last whiskey. "That's why we're gonna nuke the demon assholes before the state approves the foster parent deal. Then you can be done if you're done."

Dean raised up again. "Are you done?"

"More or less," replied Sam with a shrug. "Getting older, you know? Now or never. Your problem is you just don't like change. Good or bad, any kind of change makes you look like a cat grabbing the doorway to avoid going in for a bath."

It made sense, again, even though Dean couldn't make himself say so. The waitress brought his new whiskey and he took a huge mouthful without apology and without really even feeling the burn. Lifelong drinkers needed booze with a punch to feel it, like hunters needed the newest, biggest monster over and over again to feel any thrill. He took another drink, considering his options.

"I could go back to Kansas," he ventured in a cautious tone.

"You could," Sam conceded, "but I think you'd be alone."

"So if I don't go along with this, I'll lose Cas."

"I didn't say that, but I think you should be willing to recognize where Cas is in his life even if you're not in the same place."

"Well, I mean, I like living where we are," Dean admitted, "and I like family dinners and all that stuff. I just haven't thought about closing the door to hunting or leaving it open. I always assumed we'd eventually go back to Kansas."

"To what though?" asked Sam. "A dirty old bunker? A state where we have no friends except crusty old hunters who only call us for weird jobs? At least in Maine we have real friends and jobs that don't mean we might get killed every day. I have an actual girlfriend. You're actually getting married. Hell, Dean, you even have a dock where you can fish anytime you want. You really think Kansas is better?"

"No," he grumbled.

"So being a foster parent to a little girl isn't so bad after all," Sam surmised, tipping his bottle toward Dean with his brow knowingly arched. "Think of how things might've been different for us if we'd had a home with cool people and the life Cas wants to give this little girl."

The conversation backed Dean into a corner. He knew everything Sam said was true and it really wasn't the worst thing in the world but Dean never counted himself as parental material. Sure, he liked Kayleigh. She was cute as a button but kids were hard even without cerebral palsy, demons, and angels thrown into the mix.

Other hunters had kids though. Five or six families paraded through his mind there in the bar, all with one parent at home while the other parent hunted. Castiel certainly was done, just as Sam pointed out, which meant Dean could theoretically work a few jobs here and there if he wanted. It didn't work out with Lisa and Ben but those were different circumstances. He was a different man. She wasn't Castiel.

"You think I could do it, huh?" he asked his brother.

"Yep." Sam nodded. "I never liked kids but I'm doing it. You, on the other hand, actually like little ankle biters. You're ahead of the game already."

"Kids keep it real. There's no bullshit," replied Dean. He sighed and rubbed his forehead, though it did little to ease the dull ache. "All right, what're we gonna do about Crowley? Speaking of bullshit, I mean."

That tensed Sam's shoulders. He abandoned his beer, thinking. "I know Wilhelmina thinks you should take the deal."

"You know I hate getting into bed with the devil," Dean groused.

"Okay, let's say you refuse the deal. How are we gonna find the King of the Incubi and the Queen of the Succubi?"

"No idea. I'm hoping we get some good leads tonight."

"I doubt it," Sam said truthfully. "It's too easy. The King won't be sitting on a throne at the nightclub or anything. Chances are the paper trail stops with the guy who owns these places to stop hunters like us from tracing them to the top of the food chain. What I'm hoping for is the kinds of numbers we're dealing with and how well-guarded these courtiers are."

"Yeah," Dean agreed with a nod. "What if we kill their courtiers? Just wipe 'em all out. That oughta bring out the King and Queen into the open."

"That's risky. Demons don't really form emotional attachments to each other much. We could kill their courtiers but they might not care enough to try and save 'em but it'd be just enough to attract their attention. Then we'd have angels and demons tracking our asses and you know how shitty that gets."

"True." Dean reached for the bowl of nuts in the middle of their table. He wasn't hungry but he needed to keep his mouth busy or he'd order another whiskey. "I'm not working with Crowley if he doesn't fix Cas first. That's just the bottom line. If he wants us to help him bad enough, he'll do me that solid."

"And he likes you." It came out of Sam's mouth so casually as he shrugged.

"Gross. Pretty sure he likes you more, Moose."

"Good thing you're not summoning him alone," replied Sam with a cocky smile.

At the front of the bar, a portly, bearded man whistled loudly, distracting Sam and Dean from their conversation. Three figures in peach, black, and electric blue came in and, answering the whistle, the one in peach flashed a middle finger.

"If you wanna keep those dried up nasty lips on your face, then you better stop whistling at me, asshole!"

"That's my lady," Sam told Dean through an amused grin.

Wilhelmina in her deceivingly soft fluttering peach dress cut a path through the crowded bar with Rhiannon and Charlie following close like ducklings. She stood just slightly taller than the other ladies but her comfortable confidence in a bar made her look as large as any man. She chucked her black clutch bag on the table Dean and Sam shared and then two other clutch bags joined it. They shared a quick kiss as if they'd been together for years and such greetings were old habit.

"You guys okay?" Dean questioned.

"Yeah, nothing bad happened to us," Rhiannon said, taking a seat beside him. "Well, Charlie's butt got grabbed but I took care of it."

Saying nothing, Charlie stole Sam's abandoned beer without asking and tossed back a long drink.

"What do you mean you took care of it?" probed Sam cautiously.

"It was awesome," Wilhelmina chimed in. "The guy was human, right, just some random dick. He'd been eyeing up Charlie all night but we weren't there for human dicks, so when she rejected him, the dude grabbed her ass as he left. She shrieked and of course Rhiannon swooped in to the rescue, right, and she literally put a curse on the guy. She's so fuckin' cool."

"He won't be able to perform in bed for a while," Rhiannon said with a modest smile.

"Awesome," chuckled Dean, though he eyed Charlie, concerned. "You okay?"

"Yeah." A forced smile behind dead eyes resembled the shell shock Dean suffered after too much time around demons.

"Here," he said quietly, sliding her the remainder of his whiskey.

"I gotta call Cas and check on my kid. I'll be in the ladies room," announced Wilhelmina as she grabbed her phone and disappeared.

Dean slid the peanut bowl over to Charlie as well, hoping a little something in her stomach would revive her. To Rhiannon, he adopted an all business tone and asked, "Did you guys get anything we can use?"

"Yep," she replied, nodding. "I counted seventy-three incubi in the place tonight. It's not really a nightclub like we thought. It's a lounge set up to make women think rich men are ripe for the picking there. The whole thing's an illusion though. Most of the incubi were in polyester blend suits, which looked rich at first glance, but any woman on top of her gold-digger game would see right through it. It all felt like a pretty box with dog crap inside. Desperate women were everywhere thinking if they just put out enough, they'd get their very own Christian Grey."

"I felt like a hooker and not the sexy Pretty Woman kind," Charlie said quietly, stirring Dean's half-melted ice with the skinny cocktail straw.

"So did I, sweetie, but we know we're not. We're better than all of this," comforted Rhiannon. She reached across the table and squeezed Charlie's hand.

"What about security?" Sam pressed.

"Oh, yeah, five of the incubi were bouncers. A couple were dressed in plain clothes."

"The three guys at the door looked like Mission: Impossible guys," added Charlie.

"Five? That's it?" asked Sam. The brothers exchanged worried glances. "That doesn't sound like very tight security for demon royalty."

A sweep of spicy perfume brought Wilhelmina back to their table. "My kid puked carrots all over Cas tonight but he says everything's cool. I think he's having fun. They're reading Winnie the Pooh right now. He's cutting a new tooth, so he's not sleeping, I guess."

Dean felt Sam's eyes on him like, see? see? I told you Cas is done with the hunter life.

"What's our next move?" Sam said instead.

"Doesn't sound like we'll find the King at this lounge or anyone to tell us where he is," replied Dean regretfully.

"Doesn't sound like it," Wilhelmina echoed.

"All right. Let's go back to the hotel and get some shuteye. I guess it's time to summon Crowley." Dean's tone turned more and more regretful. The last thing he wanted was to work with the King of Hell again.


	39. Crowley, At Your Service

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Winchesters summon Crowley to answer his proposal. Dean and Wilhelmina have terms of their own before they really accept though. Will Crowley follow through with it? They get closer to going toe-to-toe with the King of the Incubi and the Queen of the Succubi, which has Dean, Castiel, and Sam questioning the direction of their lives once it's all over.

"Am I doing the right thing?" Dean asked the ceiling.

"Am I doing the right thing?" Castiel asked the same ceiling.

Lying together in bed, the dark room offered no guidance for either of their problems. Dean loathed swallowing the bitter pill of working with the King of Hell, while Castiel loathed jumping through government hoops when he only wanted to look after a little girl in need. They spoke aloud to each other but neither expected an answer, knowing the answers weren't there to be had.

Still, Castiel rolled on his side again and jammed a folded pillow under his head. "I don't want you to use me as a bargaining chip with Crowley. I'm going to agree to work with him. If we succeed and get the angels to stop hunting me, that's enough."

"You can't live with this immunodeficiency the rest of your life," Dean countered in solid words.

"I can," murmured Castiel. "A lot of people do."

"You're not a lot of people." Rolling up on his elbow, Dean gazed down at Castiel on the neighboring pillow with the kind of tenderness he could only show in the private seclusion of their bedroom. He snaked a hand under the pillow and found Castiel's fingers. "A demon did this to you. A demon's gonna undo it. You gotta have the energy to raise Kayleigh if you're so certain we should be her foster parents. If you get too sick to recover, it'll punish her the most."

Castiel squinted. "You're using guilt to manipulate my choice."

"Yep." And Dean wasn't sorry for it either.

Sighing impatiently, the former angel sat up and gave himself the higher vantage over Dean leaning on his elbow. "Okay, we'll compromise. You can make the proposal and see what Crowley says. If he rejects it, then you let it go. I need to be able to handle the deal of hunting the King and Queen without him being overly suspicious of my commitment."

Dean considered the points. Making the proposal seemed awfully loose of a phrase and gave him quite a bit of wiggle room to strongarm Crowley into it. "Fine," he said. Quickly, he changed the subject before Castiel could reconsider their deal. He smirked and grabbed Castiel around the back of the neck, pulling him down into a persistent kiss. "I don't wanna talk anymore."

*****

An expedition of a lone wolf to a quiet location far from home became more like a wolf pack sniffing out the best advantage--and not the funny kind of wolf pack like in the movies. Wilhelmina charged forth beside Dean like a lieutenant following a general into battle, which he might have found amusing in a less stressful expedition. Instead, feeling responsible for protecting her, Sam, and Castiel weighed him down with such force that his shoulders sagged as they meandered through the warehouse. It was the same warehouse where Dean had tortured Bela Talbot--now a demon, it seemed. The memory of torture jolted through his spine, but for the life of him, he couldn't tell if it was the old thrill or the old terror.

"Wait, I think it was this way," Sam said. The white shaft of light pointed the way as he took the lead, carrying the flashlight like a sword.

The group migrated with him seamlessly. He took a creaking flight of stairs to the floor above and then took a right through one of the abandoned storage rooms. There hung the remnants of what bound Bela's wrists toward the ceiling. Her wretched face contorted in tortured agony flashed in Dean's mind. Only a second of cowering backwards overtook him before he kicked his own ass and grew a pair. Sac up, Winchester.

It'd been a couple of months and the devil's trap on the floor shattered in the exposed elements. Sam dropped a bag off his shoulder and crouched, ready to spraypaint over the damaged sigil.

"Don't bother," Dean muttered. "Crowley's not gonna fall for it."

Sam glanced over his shoulder up to his brother's slouching height. "You sure?"

"I haven't done this before or anything but trying to trap the King of Hell probably won't build too many bridges if we're here to work together," suggested Wilhelmina to no one in particular.

"She's right," Castiel agreed. "Even though it is hunter protocal to set a demon trap, I think in this case, it's probably at our disadvantage. It's best to summon him without it."

"Okay," acquiesced Sam with a nod. "Let's get this show on the road then. We ready?"

"Yeah, let's do this." Dean just wanted to get it over with, honestly.

Each of them took part in setting up the ritual to drag Crowley's ass out of Hell, or Tahiti, or wherever roaches scurried and hid. Wilhelmina mixed the herbs according to a hastily scribbled recipe Sam wrote on his thigh in the car. Near her, Castiel helped Sam draw out the sigil on the floor with foul smelling poster markers.

And Dean, he rolled up his sleeve, knowing his blood would attract Crowley faster than the others. He squatted between them and sliced into his forearm. A line of thick red liquid rose from the wound and dripped onto his jeans. He offered his blood into the bowl just as Wilhelmina finished with the herbs. The four of them moved in fluid precision, lighting the correct candles and ensuring the proper sigil formation, all without speaking a word. Being careful and vigilant against ambush sharpened their collective concentration into working as one organism.

Sam recited the incantation designed exclusively to summon Crowley.

And then they waited.

They stood around the sigil sketched on the warehouse floor as if it needed to be guarded. Ears trained on the quiet Cumberland County night made Wilhelmina flinch as a train whistled somewhere out there. Sam offered her a faint feeble smile, likely amused by how green she was with the art of summoning demons.

Footsteps ascended the stairwell just around the corner. Each of them stiffened and Dean just knew that lazy gait and those fancy shoes belonged to the perfectly tailored egomaniac himself.

"Crowley, at your service," the King of Hell greeted. "You certainly took your time extending the invitation, didn't you, Squirrel? Hello, Moose. Oh, dear me. You're looking lovely this evening, madam. And Castiel, it appears you've quite recovered from the illness you had when last we met. You almost wear humanity well, but then again, you must feel rather naked without your wings. I admit, even I admired them."

"Cut the crap, Crowley," groused Dean, his voice dropping into his chest as it always did when he needed to intimidate.

The great demon smiled as much as a snake could smile. "I do enjoy your rough Midwestern vernacular. Do you know you speak very much like Jesse James? That was a juicy soul for the taking, let me tell you."

"Crowley," cut off Castiel, stepping forward, "we're willing to negotiate."

"Negotiate?" Laughter bubbled from the demon king's chest.

The mental battle of wrestling his hatred into submission drained Dean's ability to make nice in the interest of striking a bargain. His jaw clenched. His green eyes darkened as his vision narrowed in on that loathsome creature.

"We're gonna help you, but only if--"

"--We? Dear boy, just who are the angels after here? Methinks Castiel has the most to wager and should speak for himself," spat Crowley, his purposefully antiquated words punctuating his sarcasm. "We'll kiss and make up over dinner sometime later, Squirrel, all right?"

Dean ground his teeth until one of them near the back threatened to crack under the pressure. "Look, dickhead, you need our help as much as we need yours. Let's cut the bullshit comments and get down to business, okay?"

"Now you're speaking my language, boy." Crowley clasped his hands behind his back and rocked on his expensive heels.

"You know we get shit done. You know what we're capable of."

He nodded. "I do."

"Then if you want us to ice the King and Queen, you're gonna do a few things for us first," Dean said without pausing and no time for Crowley to interrupt. "Number one--you'll give Wilhelmina the recipe or whatever it is to cure other half-demon kids--"

"--Who?"

Dean blinked, thrown off course. He squinted just like Castiel did and twisted back with a quick gesture toward Wilhelmina.

"Me," she said steadily. "I need enough of the serum to cure any child I find who needs it."

"Ah, yes. A regular Mother Theresa. Go on." Crowley's sharp nod never indicated whether he intended to follow through but he seemed intent on hurrying up with those pesky negotiations.

"Number two," Dean pressed forward, "you will fix Cas."

"Fix him?"

"I was attacked by a succubus," Castiel explained suddenly. "The attack nearly killed me."

"Hazard of living in a trough with the other piglets, eh?" Crowley sneered.

The former angel's features darkened in blatant irritation. He chose not to bite on the sarcastic bait. "A witch gave me life again but at great cost. I've been left with an immunodeficiency that continues to put my life at risk every day. Nobody can undo the damage except an angel or--"

"--Or a demon," finished Crowley through a thin smile. "Shall we draw up a contract then, Cas?"

"No," blurted Dean with the protective rage blazing over his skin. "You want my help tracking your rats? You fix Cas. Now!"

Eyes darkened by the black of Hell turned from Castiel's face to Dean standing beside him. Crowley didn't bother trying to hide the amusement in his grin. "And if I don't?"

"Then no deal." Dean knew he was playing hardball. He planted his feet square on the floor and held his ground. "Do the grunt work yourself."

Low chuckles arose from Crowley's chest. "If Cas doesn't do the angels' bidding, they'll off him anyway. You've really got no footing here at all, Squirrel, but I admire your gumption. You remind me of myself in my younger days."

Nodding, Dean ventured into that detestable thought just to let Crowley think he had the upper hand. "Sure, they might take Cas from us. True enough." He felt Castiel's eyes slide to his profile, uneasy and questioning, just as Sam called his name somewhere to the back. He ignored both of them and instead stared Crowley down without the slightest glimmer of fear. "Think of it this way. If the angels nab Cas, then I sure as fuck won't help you. Those low-level demon rats will still be out there wearing crowns that  _you_ want. Refusing to fix Cas means you'll still have 99 problems and a hunter's just one. So what's it gonna be?"

Crowley's countenance remained stiff and unfeeling, yet his silence told Dean that he turned over the choice in his mind. Confident, the hunter crossed his arms over his chest and waited.

A snap of Crowley's fingers brought a bottle to the palm of his hand, larger than the last bottle he'd given them. Blown glass twisted upward and accentuated the glimmer of angelic grace traces contained in the mixture. He approached Wilhelmina, who struggled with her resolve not to run from the King of Hell as any rational human would, and he snatched her wrist. She gasped, eyes wide, and tried to jerked away but Crowley's relentless grip held her there. Wordlessly, he pressed the bottle into her hand and tucked a slip of paper into her jeans pocket.

Seeing the invasion, Sam jumped forward but a swift hand flip tossed him backwards. Crowley gave him a silent, glaring warning.

"You've got your demon cure, love," he said. Though the words sounded tender, his voice strained with the anger of being backed into another Winchester corner, which pleased Dean immensely. "Recite the spell in your pocket when you run out and the bottle will fill again."

Wilhelmina's head dipped in a single nod, uncertain of whether she should say anything, but she stayed quiet. Her mouth pursed tightly and her eyes narrowed as if she tried to make herself look tougher. She gathered up the bottle to her chest and clutched the twisted glass, holding it in a defensive posture.

But Crowley abandoned her without a thought and turned his attention to Castiel. Beside him, Dean stiffened and dropped his arms again, ready for a fight.

"Ready, angel?" Crowley sneered.

"I'm not an angel anymore," he replied.

"Tomato, to-mah-toh. Potato, po-tat-oh. Let's call the whole thing off."

The song, as always, fell on Castiel's inexperienced mind and produced a blank stare. Crowley chuckled, never really allowing himself to laugh from his gut like humans did. He stepped forward rather unceremoniously and twapped Castiel along his temple. He flew sideways and recovered in the next instant, but not before Dean struck like a viper with his fist around the demon's throat. Smug and highly amused by Dean's reaction, he chuckled again despite a hand nearly crushing his meat suit's windpipe.

"Relax, boyfriend," he rasped without a hint of pain. "Cas is as good as new. Just a few bits of DNA and such needed reorganizing. Let me go before I get pissy, hm?"

Still squeezing hard, Dean called out, "Cas?"

"I'm okay, Dean," he replied as he rubbed his temple, stunned.

Dean dragged Crowley close and forced him to examine the determination in his eyes. "If Cas gets sick or tests still show the immunodeficiency, I  _will_ hunt you down and you  _will_ be next to die after the King and Queen."

"You're giving me a chubby, hunter," Crowley snarled.

It would have been easy for a demon like him to flick a hand and throw Dean through a wall. They all got off on those displays of power. Crowley allowed Dean to choke him, to manhandle him, and to hurl him backwards by the throat. He wanted the hunter to believe he had control of the situation, but in truth, the hunter knew better. A quick glance beyond Crowley rubbing his throat showed Sam holding onto Wilhelmina as she held onto the bottle. The younger brother shook his head just the way he always did when Dean's anger threatened to possess him into stupid, irrational actions that couldn't be taken back.

"How do we find the King and Queen?" Sam interrogated, taking over and giving Dean a moment to collect himself.

"Dogs," replied Crowley quite casually as he smoothed his tie.

Innocent and inexperienced, Wilhelmina just didn't know. "What do you mean dogs?"

Dean's stomach seized up and his throat tightened. He wished he didn't know what dogs meant but he heard the growling and barking in his memories like a combat soldier tossed back into the nightmares of war. Though he didn't move or let his expression change, he quaked within, dreading what had to be done.

"Hellhounds, love. My very own darlings. They'll catch the scent and lead us straight to our targets," Crowley told her. "I must go and collect my dogs and find things with the scent on them. I'll contact you tomorrow. Fare thee well, friends."

"Wait!" Dean barked, not willing to be left out of anything. "Crowley!"

But the King of Hell snapped his fingers again and disappeared.

"Fuck!" growled Dean, enraged.

*****

By the light of his iPhone, Dean thumbed through a Department of Health and Human Services pamphlet about foster parenting under the blackened Maine sky. He sat on the hood of his car the way he did in the old days, except the car wasn't the Impala and he parked in the driveway of a house where he paid rent every month like any other average pedestrian man. Foster families in Maine were actually called  _resource_ families, he learned, and that sounded like an attempt to take the stigma out of kids getting removed from negligent biological parents.

Anything to avoid thinking about Crowley's hellhounds. He hardly spoke a word on the way home. If he said anything at all, he thought he'd puke up a perfectly good bacon burger dinner. His fear of dogs kept him on alert in parks but his fear of hellhounds nearly paralyzed his entire central nervous system.

Sam's shoes crunched along the gravel driveway and Dean peered over the car as the motion detector light blinked on the corner of his house.

"Here, this might help us tomorrow," said Sam, joining him on the hood with a pair of glasses.

"Shit, I forgot about these things," Dean said quietly. "Where'd you get the holy oil?"

"I keep a stash of a few things from the bunker. You never know when stuff might come up." Shrugging, Sam said it so easily as if their lives were normal, yet the foster parenting pamphlet looking at Dean on the hood said otherwise. "I guess if you can see 'em coming, they won't freak you out so much. I'll make myself a pair later. You're, uh, you're okay doing this, right?"

Dean wanted to laugh but stifled it. "Did Cas send you out here?"

"He figured something was up by your choice in reading material," admitted the younger brother.

"I'm cool," Dean assured. "I'll be fine. Hellhounds aren't after me."

"Yeah, but you're, like, phobic of dogs."

"Your point?"

Sam's mouth opened into an elastic smile and a chortle of uncertainty. His eyes diverted across the lawn. "You need to cut your grass again before the snow comes."

"Yeah, I'll get right on that," chuckled Dean, sliding off the hood. He slugged Sam's shoulder in passing as he muttered, "Cutting brown grass after summer. Oh, Sammy...."

"You'll thank me next spring!" Sam shouted after him.

Warmth and light hit Dean like a wall inside the house and he shucked off his jacket, leaving the pamphlet on the hall table. He followed voices into the living room, where he found Rhiannon and Charlie crosslegged on the floor playing with Logan while Castiel lounged on the couch. One of his trashy television shows played out on the new plasma screen, much to Dean's turned stomach. Wilhelmina appeared through the kitchen doorway with an armload of ice cream bowls and spotted him loitering well beyond the living room.

"Hey, Dean, you gonna get fat on ice cream? C'mon, now. Just us girls. Cas is making us watch reruns of The Rachel Zoe Project." She winked at him and smiled.

"How can you guys watch that garbage?" he grumbled, though ice cream enticed him into the knot of family around the television.

"Easy," Castiel replied. "It has absolutely nothing to do with real life. I'm half convinced this one's a witch anyway. This is an interesting dissection of how far humans will go for power."

"I resent that," chimed in Rhiannon.

A bashful, toying smile brightened Castiel's features. "I mean she's the kind of witch who's life is running on Hell's egg timer."

"Oh, yeah. Totally." Rhiannon nodded emphatically at the screen. "She and Paris Hilton are probably under contract. A lot of women on TV seem like the bad kind of witches, or took the shortcut and just sold their souls for power."

"That sounds sexist," Dean commented.

Both Charlie and Wilhelmina arched their brows and exchanged looks. "Very good," said Wilhelmina with a pat on his hand. "You're coming along nicely, Dean. If you can learn, there's hope for men everywhere."

Laughter rang through the house. Sam came in through the front door and, seeing everyone feasting on ice cream, headed to the kitchen for his stash of frozen yogurt. He swore it tasted just as good but Dean couldn't get past the different texture. As he watched his family arguing over what movie to watch, he wondered how they could be so relaxed after their day. Tomorrow, for all intents and purposes, they were headed into battle led by the King of Hell and a couple of hellhounds.

"How do you feel?" he asked Castiel quietly.

A secure, confident, but softened smile framed Castiel's full mouth. "I feel fine. For all we know, Crowley really did keep to the bargain." His hand slid into Dean's and they squeezed each other's fingers.

"We won't know 'til we go see your doctor," Dean said in a nervous tone.

"That's true." The former angel nodded. "For tonight, I feel good and by this time tomorrow night, I hope to have killed my last targets."

"And disappear into real life," added Dean.

"Real life," Castiel echoed.

The difference between Dean and his family, he realized, was they could see the light at the end of the tunnel. He lived in constant expectation that the other shoe would drop, because usually, it did.


	40. Smells Like Sex and Fire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Winchesters ride into war for the final time. Crowley sends his hellhounds to search for the King of the Incubi and the Queen of the Succubi while the angels send a representative to make sure Castiel does what he's told. Will they survive doing battle with Hell's royalty?

"I-I can't do this, Dean," stammered Charlie. Wide pale eyes and fingers digging into Logan's thigh showed him just how serious she was about not going with them.

Dean nodded. "Okay. It's fine." She didn't have to explain. He understood her fear and, if he was honest with himself, facing the hellish creatures that allowed the both of them to be sexually assaulted by demons had him rather afraid too. Unlike her, though, he couldn't opt to remain behind with the baby.

Hearing the higher pitch in Charlie's voice brought Wilhelmina to them. "Hey, Charlie, you don't have to go. We got this. Somebody's gotta stay safe and keep an eye on my son anyway, which is just as important."

"I'm really sorry," Charlie said to both of them. She bit her lip and, blinking hard, tried to hide angry tears in Logan's shoulder.

Rather than give her an awful pep talk, Dean slung an arm around her and pulled her into a tight embrace. Logan wiggled between them and amused himself with the zipper on Dean's jacket as the hunter bent to kiss her forehead. He still hadn't gotten used to the artsy short haircut but it seemed to make the red hue even brighter. He held her there for a long moment, never commenting on the slight tremors passing through her body. Going with the girls into an incubus nest, for lack of a better word, had been too much too soon for her. He wasn't about to lecture her about growing a pair and going anyway because the fact was, Charlie wasn't a hunter.

"We're gonna get 'em," Dean promised privately in her ear. "It all stops today."

Rhiannon approached from behind and laid hands along Charlie's arms. It gave Dean pause, watching the witch take over as the protection and comfort in her life. He felt like he handed Charlie over to her. Something hurt in his heart the way a brother felt the sting when a little sister struck out on her own and found love.

Absently, he glanced at Wilhelmina as Rhiannon took Charlie away. A braid wrapped around the side of her head and joined the rest of her hair in a sleek ponytail. Black eyeliner and mascara framed her eyes in an intimidating scowl, that intimidation matching her black tank top and skinny jeans. Even the black boots with silver stud detail and low heavy heels seemed to scream intimidation and a general sense of a superhero in disguise.

"You look like Black Widow," he muttered.

Wilhelmina's attitude centered on her sharply arched brow. "Jealous?"

*****

An unsettled, anxious tension kept Dean quiet as they drove back to the warehouse but not for a lack of courage in killing demons. He could do that with his eyes closed. It was the hellhounds. The snarling, growling beasts bigger than any wolf on Earth clawed and shredded human bodies into hamburger like it was just another day at the office. Dean rubbed his temple and tried to focus on the road.

Sam put on his glasses in the backseat just before they arrived but Dean hadn't worked up his nerve yet.

"What's with the spectacles?" asked Wilhelmina.

"Glass burned in holy oil allows human eyes to view hellhounds, angel wings, halos, and any number of things they couldn't normally see," Castiel replied from the passenger seat beside Dean.

She whistled. "Like x-ray vision. Cool."

Dean remained silent.

"Okay, so Crowley said his dogs will track the King and Queen by scent and we'll have to wing it as far as how to kill these things," Sam explained in an authoritative tone. "He did say that he has the weapons to take them out though. It sounds like he won't get his hands bloody but he'll give us what we need to do it."

"Why can't he do this?" Wilhelmina questioned.

"He's a king too and before that, he was a glorified salesman. Neither kind of guy gets his hands dirty," Dean replied, his tone low and putting on a show of intimidation.

The car rounded the last corner in a run down industrial complex outside of Brunswick where they'd been summoning demons since living in Maine. The further they drew demons away from home, the better. Crowley stood outside waiting for them with a sly sneer and a new overpriced wool overcoat. The demon king's hand patted a head that came up to his chest and, although Dean hadn't put on his glasses yet, he sensed the hellfire odor that followed those dogs. As the others piled out of the car, Dean lingered, finding things to do before he shut off the engine and faced the beasts.

"Hello, boys," Crowley greeted politely, "and madam. Pleasant drive?"

"So who are the King and Queen?" Sam demanded, bypassing Crowley's sarcastic attempt at nice conversation. His eyes darted to the sidewalk and his tone shifted tracks. "What the hell is that?"

"Haven't you seen a puppy before, Moose?" he replied as he reached down and scratched something Dean couldn't see.

"Hold on. A hellhound puppy?" Dean asked.

With a chuckle, Crowley explained, "Juliet had a litter. I kept the runt. The other five made me a small fortune. Call it a puppy training course today. Isn't that right, Penelope darling?"

The way he patted and scratched at nothing made him look insane but Dean knew a little hellhound puppy soaked up the demonic affection. Juliet, the large hellhound they'd encountered before, snarled at Crowley's other side and Dean decided not seeing them was more frightening than looking at their grotesque faces. Reluctantly, he found the burned holy oil glasses in his pocket. A steadying breath that, hopefully, no one else saw as they discussed their plans and he put on the glasses. Translucent images of charred black dogs came into focus with a wiggling rear end on the smaller beast. Apparently hellhound puppies were campable of a twisted version of happy tail wagging before their demon masters worked them up into a bloodthirsty frenzy. Still, Dean stood further back than Sam, Castiel, and even Wilhelmina. They hadn't been shredded by hellhounds before. They just didn't know.

"...And Cas, you must drink this. Let it simmer," Crowley said, finishing a long-winded thought.

The former angel accepted the vial and popped the cork.

"Wait, what's that?" Dean snatched Castiel's wrist and shot a dark, warning eye at the bearded demon.

A gust of wind pushed them forward but then stilled in the next second. Dean remembered that sensation when Castiel swooped in from wherever he'd been in Heaven. Turning, they found an angel in yet another boring black business suit crossing the street to join them. Without emotion, without a slightest sign of hatred or love, her eyes fixed on Crowley as if making the point that she would not be manipulated. Both Sam and Dean stepped in front of Castiel and shielded him from the angel intruder.

"Ah, just in time. Hello, darling." An extended hand accompanied Crowley’s thin smile.

The angel hesitated but awkwardly shook his hand. It resembled leaders of enemy nations pretending to make nice for the cameras. Dean watched Castiel squinting darkly at the angel, holding onto the vial, but without his grace, he couldn’t see her through the vessel.

"Who’s this?" Wilhelmina broke the tension.

"Luella. Heaven’s delegation for this mission. My superiors require a witness to this renegade angel assassinating the greatest threats to our realm," the angel replied. "And you are?"

"Wilhelmina."

"Oh yes. The young hunter’s romantic partner." The way Luella said it made the relationship sound like something primitive to be sneered at, but thankfully Wilhelmina kept her mouth shut.

Dean, on the other hand, expressed his irritation and rolled his eyes. "Jesus Christ, this is like a fucked up _Hunger Games_."

"Christ has nothing to do with what's happening here, Mr. Winchester," replied Luella, completely straight-faced and unable to read sarcasm just as Castiel hadn't been able to years ago. "Drink the potion, Castiel. You are the weapon that will wipe this Earth clean of these fiendish demon creatures."

"Love it when you talk dirty," Crowley sassed.

They collectively ignored the King of Hell as Castiel cautiously eyed the vial and peered at Dean as if he expected protests.

"Drink it, Castiel! We don't have time for indecision!" shouted Luella.

"What do you mean by he's the weapon?" Dean interjected.

"There's enough fire power in that potion to kill the King of the Incubi and the Queen of the Succubi." She directed her instruction at Castiel then. "Drink it. When you're ready to kill, utter the fire spell and throw the holy light at the creature. No blade is powerful enough to kill them. Not even hellhounds can do more than scratch and bite. Holy fire will incinerate them but only if you get close enough to make the kill."

"So only Cas can do this," Sam replied dismally.

"As he should. His actions exiled all of Heaven's host to this mud pit of a planet with humans and demons roaming about unchecked," she argued in a dark, threatening tone. "If Castiel wants repentance, he'll make this evil right. You're only here to distract the loyal creatures. Bait, if you will."

Castiel, perhaps anticipating the argument going on and on, dumped back the vial into his mouth before anyone could stop him. It amused Crowley and left Luella with no expression whatsoever, as always. A bright flush of glowing blue circulated through Castiel's body and pooled in his chest. A burst, an explosion, yet nothing physically affected Castiel as streams of light consumed him. Quickly it began and quickly it ended, soaking into him like a living cannon ready to fire.

Luella looked to Crowley again. "Have the succubi and incubi leaders been located, demon?"

Crowley's jaw tightened for the briefest instant as if merely being addressed as demon by an angel offended him to his core. “Watch and learn, angel.”

Admittedly, the others were just as curious and nervous as Crowley produced a ... what? A black bra? Dean's head tipped in unison with Castiel and Sam both as the black bra appeared from the King of Hell's inner breast pocket. He crouched and attracted his dogs' attention with the snap of a finger, and then offered the undergarment for them to examine and sniff. Juliet, the larger hellhound, drooled sulfur on the ground once she caught the scent of her target. Her puppy, Penelope, became so excited that she hopped and spun in wild circles just waiting for permission to hunt and kill. Dean and Sam watched through their glasses but never got close.

"Where'd you get the bra, Crowley?" asked Sam.

"Succubi always leave evidence behind of their conquests if you just know where to look. It's much harder tracking incubi." He made sure the hellhounds got quite acclimated to the succubus' discarded undergarment, twisting it and turning it before each of their noses. "Ready, Juliet? Good girl. Hunt. Search! Go!"

Muscles flexed and stretched beneath charred, twisted dog flesh as Juliet bolted down the street with Penelope in hot pursuit. The humans among them started off after the dogs, not wanting to lose them, but Crowley chuckled at them and a sweeping sensation lifted feet off the ground. The King of Hell snatched Dean and Castiel by the scruffs of their necks and Luella the angel snatched Sam and Wilhelmina by their wrists, all four of them dragged along after the dogs. The country swept by so far below that it felt like being in a plane but it happened so quickly that Dean couldn't get a word out or even squirm in protest.

*****

"Where the hell are we?" Dean didn't know how he ended up lying in a street but he guessed Crowley dropped him.

"Calabasas, California," Crowley responded in an absent tone as his eyes scanned the neighborhood. "Her home turf. This will be a bit more complicated trying to get into her lair. Moose, take off your shirt."

Sam's brow shot straight up. "Excuse me?"

"Take off your shirt!" shouted Crowley. "Use your head. We can't attract a succubus with a pretty  _girl_. We need a pretty  _boy_. Now take off that shirt and dirty up. You've had a car accident and you need a phone. Go on, don't be shy, Moose. Show us those muscles." The leering smirk finally confirmed it for the lot of them that Crowley wasn't particularly concerned with gender and probably had a sick thing for Sam.

It took all of Dean's willpower not to gag.

"Are you kidding me?" Sam mumbled.

On the other hand, Wilhelmina seemed trigger happy and ready for a fight even if it meant using her boyfriend as bait. "Which house? Where'd the dogs go?"

"Down there," Luella said, gesturing to a gated property.

"They're scratching at the gate," explained Dean.

"Wait.... That gate looks familiar...." Wilhelmina squinted and in the next instant her eyes went wide. "Oh my God! That's the Kardashian house from TV!"

"Son of a bitch," Dean grumbled. "You're not serious."

A light, conversational smile brightened Crowley's face as he strolled down the street. "You don't get a figure like Kim without being some sort of hellspawn, Squirrel. Come along. Moose? Are you good and muddy?"

As they trudged toward the Kardashian property, Dean looked back at his brother. Wilhelmina made quick work of ripping his shirt in strategic places and using her water bottle to make him appear sweaty, filthy, and wounded. He resembled the cover of a Harlequin romance novel, albeit a miserable piece of lady porn. Ordinarily, Dean would make fun of him without mercy but that wasn't the time.

"I'm never ogling women like this again," muttered Sam.

"Well, you better not. It's not fun being a sex object, is it?" Wilhelmina slapped his ass. "Now go get us in the gate, tiger."

They each hid behind shrubbery a few houses down as Sam limped toward the Kardashian gate. He pressed the intercom button and made himself look as helpless as possible. A few tense seconds passed and then the electronic gate hummed into life, swinging open for the poor, wounded piece of man meat.

"Who's the King?" whispered Dean.

"Inside," Crowley replied as he fiddled with a bottle.

"The rapper?" It didn't surprise Dean, actually.

Wilhelmina, though, couldn't believe it. "Kanye?"

Through the disbelieving chatter, both Castiel and Luella watched the mansion intently. Their sharp focus brought Dean into reality and the old sensation of working a job came over him like sliding into a well-worn pair of jeans. In fact, Castiel's intensity reminded him so much of the old days that it made him feel safer, like they could win. As Dean settled into the job, Wilhelmina seemed to sense the serious tone and she began to resemble some warrior queen in a sci-fi movie.

Crowley jammed a rag into the bottle neck.

"Molotov?" said Dean.

"With holy water," Crowley said. "You're going to toss it over there at the shed. She keeps her security in there. Knock them all out at once."

Luella interrupted. "The young hunter is praying. He's inside the foyer of the main house. We are to crawl around the security bushes that way on the side of the property and enter through an open door. The living room, he believes."

"Good going, Sammy," whispered Dean to himself as he unsheathed Ruby's blade. "You good, Cas?"

"I'm ready." He nodded, nearly sounding like an angel again.

"Wait, are we killing the baby?" hissed Wilhelmina defensively.

Crowley shook his head as he passed the molotov bottle to Dean over their heads. "Baby's not real. It's an illusion spell made to create an aura of humanity around the King and Queen. Who really names a little human girl North? They haven't the slightest idea of how to blend in with you Earth dwellers. Amateurs." He seemed weirdly bitter about it.

"Go." Dean pointed along the side of the property. "Stay low. Wait for the explosion. Get close to the house and start a fire to force 'em out. They're gonna hide and let their underlings die fighting us, so we gotta force the King and Queen outta their holes. Cas, hang back and wait for 'em. Don't waste energy fighting minion demons. No unnecessary risks, you hear me? And if you see a shot, you take it no matter who else might get hurt--even me. Wilhelmina, take this." He gave her Ruby's blade. "Go for the throat or the back. Anything as long as you stab it all the way in. Don't hesitate."

Heads nodded all around and Dean avoided looking too hard at the touch of pride in Crowley's sinister eyes. Yes, Dean knew he was a master strategist and could probably have become a leader in Hell if Castiel hadn't pulled him back to life. He didn't need Crowley to remind him of that fact.

They split up, Dean headed for a closer vantage point near the security shed and the others crawling along the shrubbery. He froze at the edge of the gate, however, seeing the hellhounds staring him down and appraising his worth as a meal. Sweat broke out across his forehead and his stomach lurched with the acid left from not eating in far too long. Juliet growled. Dean took a step back, berating himself for not being able to run around them. A sharp whistle pierced the air from some distance, drawing the hellhounds with wildly excited feet scampering across the pavement. Crowley had whistled for his dogs, it seemed, and saved Dean from being eaten. The hunter breathed a sigh of relief and swiped the back of his arm across his greasy forehead.

Trudging on, Dean refocused and headed around the corner through stickler bushes that concealed his movements. He positioned himself between a tree and a fence cutting through shrubs, having a good look at the shed. If he was captured, at least it would create a distraction enough for the others to get inside.

He struck a lighter to the rag poking out of holy water bomb. Eyeballing where to throw it for the best impact only took a second as Dean's arm hurled a wide arc that carried the bottle over the fence. He ducked just as it hit the shed. A fireball erupted, rendering him deaf for a few seconds as he covered his head on the ground. Chaos fell immediately as demons dressed as security guards fled the wreckage, all on fire and all turning to ash in mere moments. Dean peered up at the inferno, spying at least six corpses dissolving into ashy bodies that reminded him of ancient Pompeii victims.

Piercing alarms blared staccato rhythms in the mansion. Stray guards ran toward the obnoxiously large home without even bothering to hide their copper eyes. Both incubi and succubi occupied security roles, likely guarding each of their respective sovereigns.

A black column of smoke ascended toward the sky from the southeast corner of the building where Sam told them to break in. Dean abandoned his hiding spot and ran across to the front gate, shoving a foot into the intricate design, and throwing his body weight over the top. He flung himself over the gate easily, though he cursed security for closing it once they let Sam inside.

Gunfire popped and echoed as Dean's feet pounded across the yard toward the open side door. Automatic rifles. He didn't need to see them to know what fired at his loved ones.

But as he came upon the scene, he stopped, stunned at the sight of Crowley and Luella standing beyond the bushes observing and doing nothing to intervene. Dean raged, though he realized they were quite serious about Castiel truly being the one to kill the Queen of the Succubi and the King of the Incubi. And if Castiel didn't succeed, then the demons would do the bloody execution work for the angels. They sent him on a suicide mission.

Dean bolted into the mansion, unwilling to let angel politics be the death of Castiel after everything they'd been through together. A rifle round whizzed by his head the moment his foot hit the threshold and he leaped behind an overstuffed cream colored chair.

Beyond the living room, he watched Wilhelmina fighting and hacking her way through the great hallway at the bottom of a sweeping black and white marble stairwell. She managed to kill two demons in rapid succession as if she'd been born a hunter. Blood splattered across her skin and soaked Ruby's blade, making her look wild and nearly out of control with years of built up rage. Above all, she seemed to know where she was going and Dean bolted from behind the chair to join her in the fight. Her fire-filled eyes barely recognized him as a security guard grabbed her from behind. Fluidly, she snatched his neck and used her own body weight to throw him overtop of her. He hit the floor as she twisted his arm and plunged the blade into his chest.

"Let's go," she ordered Dean, already bounding upstairs. "Sam covered Cas. They went this way." Wilhelmina took the lead, gripping Ruby's blade at the ready for the next fight.

"You sure you never hunted before?" asked Dean.

"Nope. I just like to imagine all these assholes are the same asshole that made my son suffer. It's easy to jam a knife in a sternum when it's that personal."

"You're telling me," he muttered to himself.

Upstairs, a wide hall greeted them with overpriced cream furniture, pretentious art, and crystal vases spilling flowers. It smelled like death to Dean as they penetrated the interior of the second floor. A funeral home came to mind. He realized most of the flowers were lilies, historically a symbol of death, and Sam's rambling about lore echoed in his mind. It seemed fitting that demonic royalty kept symbols of death in their earthly home base disguised as Kim Kardashian's taste for white flowers.

Dean attempted to maneuver ahead of Wilhelmina and take his natural leadership role but she pressed an extended finger to her lips. Keep quiet, her eyes told him, and she pressed ahead, never relinquishing control. The silence that greeted them from room to room was far more unnerving than the hail of gunfire downstairs. Fire below probably encroached on the corpses littering the ground level as they progressed. Faint burning hurt Dean's lungs as if invisible smoke stretched lacy fingers around his throat. They had to get it done and get out before the fire blocked all the exit points. Yet another odor altogether hit him the further they moved from the source of the fire.

"Oh gross. Smells like sex up here," Dean mumbled against the back of his hand.

"The whole place smells like that," replied Wilhelmina.

Far too many bedrooms populated the upper floor as they made security sweeps. The lack of demon minions told Dean they had to be close to the inner sanctum of the King and Queen. As he rounded one corner for another, Castiel's face appeared around a bedroom door across the hall. Blood spilled down the side of his head, though he didn't seem to feel it. His fingers flew to his mouth. Keep quiet, he told them with the gesture.

"They've got Sam," he said so softly that both Wilhelmina and Dean leaned in to hear him better. "He let himself get captured on purpose to lead me to them."

"Is he hurt?" Wilhelmina whispered.

Castiel shook his head. "I don't think so."

They followed Castiel, who appeared to have good directional bearings. Deeper into the house they traveled until his hand went up and stopped them at the rear. His head tilted, peering discreetly into a room. Dean and Wilhelmina huddled around him, each so silent that no one in the bedroom even suspected anything amiss. Most demons thought of humans as weak and easily killed. They probably thought Sam was the only survivor left after hearing such intense automatic rifle fire followed by the smoke and flames building downstairs.

There in the opulent master suite, Sam lay suspended to a bed's headboard and footboard. A woman with long dark hair and more curves in all the right places that spurred so many plastic surgery rumors straddled the younger Winchester. His eyes clamped shut so hard that stressful wrinkles spread through his countenance as if opening his eyes and looking at her would put him in danger. Velvet ropes bound Sam's wrists and ankles, which Dean found so tacky and low rent, yet so very Kardashian. He realized they were caricatures, never really passing as humans, but that weirdness immersed them in celebrity culture and allowed them to maintain demonic power over the masses. It all made sense.

Kim Kardashian, the Queen of the Succubi, bent over Sam and dug her perfectly manicured fingernails around Sam's jaw. Purple breath, thin at first, building into thick smoke, billowed from her lips across Sam's cheek and curled around his head. She fed.

"Yeah, get him, baby," a man said.

Each of their heads craned around to see who spoke. There in the back corner of the room stood Kanye West, the King of the Incubi, watching the Queen draw out the feeding process as if it gave both of them pleasure. Sam's inner self fought the assault with his jaw clenched hard, his eyes locked shut, and his body unwilling to give her more than she stole. Her white-tipped fingernails stretched and grew into hideous claws. It gave her sick pleasure to slice Sam's chest open with those claws as he choked back growling pain. Nothing in a Winchester wanted to show suffering to the enemy no matter how bad things got.

Unwilling to stand by, Wilhelmina lunged forward like she wanted to fight them all herself. Dean didn't doubt her prowess after the firefight downstairs but she snatched her by the shoulders before she gave away their position.

"Take the shot. Now!" he mouthed over her head to Castiel.

Determined, yet fearful of hurting Sam, the one-time angel rose to his feet and muttered an Enochian fire spell under his breath. White-hot light filled his hands. At the last second, Dean threw Wilhelmina to the floor and shielded her with his own body as a fireball sailed over their heads into the bedroom. Castiel cried out in agony and the foul odor of scorched flesh hit Dean with the realization that the fireballs burned Castiel's hands each time he threw them. Still, that first ball hit the Queen on the back of the head.

"Duck, Sammy!" shouted Dean.

Inhuman growling, screeching, and howling piped out from the Queen as her hair went up in flames first. Holy fire consumed her in no more than a few seconds, though she scrambled up the wall and twisted and flailed, trying to get away from the inevitable. The body turned to ash and crumbled once the screeching died away. Sam jerked free of one velvet rope and quickly untied the rest of them.

Rage and copper eyes blocked the doorway suddenly as the King of the Incubi sought blood for the Queen's sudden and gruesome end. Dean hopped to his feet, freeing Wilhelmina. Neither of them moved fast enough to save Castiel, though, as Kanye whipped a leg into the air and clipped him at the jaw. Blood exploded from Castiel's mouth as his body flew back into the opposite wall, cracking the drywall and snapping the elaborate crown molding over his head.

Dean and Wilhelmina scattered in opposite directions--one to Sam's rescue in the bedroom and the other to Castiel's rescue in the hallway. As Dean turned, he noticed smoke beginning to creep up the stairwell from the ground floor. They had to get out fast.

The angel blade wouldn't kill Kanye, and Dean knew it, but he hurled himself at the King to buy Castiel a few seconds to get to his feet. The King's iron strong hand snatched Dean by the throat in the same moment that the blade plunged into his chest. Lips curled back in a painful grimace and he staggered. Demonic copper bleeding over his human eyes gave him such a frightening countenance that it distracted even Dean, making him realize just how inhuman the persona had always been. He choked, feeling the breath squeezed out of his throat, but it didn't matter as long as he bought Castiel time.

Kanye noticed Dean's eyes fluttering with the fight for consciousness and grew tired of waiting, it seemed, though it couldn't have been more than a few seconds. He flung an arm and suddenly Dean went airborne. A sideboard inlaid with fucking metal--at least it felt that way--broke his fall and jammed into his ribcage. Blinding pain made Dean wish for death in that moment. Still, he fought for Castiel. He rolled over and tried to crawl until warm, thick liquid slid up his throat. He spat blood.

Noise attracted his attention as Wilhelmina rushed out of the bedroom like a hurricane. She grabbed the first thing she could find--a granite bust on a nearby table--and swung it at the King of the Incubi without the slightest hint of fear.

"God damn you to Hell!" her rage bellowed.

At the same moment, Sam yelled, "No!"

It was a lucky shot knocking the King and taking him by surprise. Wilhelmina became relentless as she swung over and over again, never giving the hellish creature a moment to recover. Dean watched through dizziness and weak limbs as blood splattered from the Kanye vessel onto Wilhelmina from head to toe. She beat him with every intention of leaving nothing behind but a bloody pulp. All of the pent up fear, anger, sorrow, and years of being beaten and raped by one of his soldiers unleashed in that moment. She howled as it all belched and spasmed out of her soul, purging it all through the limitations of her physical body. Not even Sam could pull her away.

Castiel, seeing the opportunity despite being dazed by the blow to his head, crawled and grabbed at furniture to pull himself to his feet. He shook his head as if ordering himself to pull it together. Hands outstretched, the second utterance of the Enochian fire spell charged his body with the holy retribution. He struggled to focus and it showed in the fireball as it grew not only through his hands but through his chest.

In the moment that fire erupted from Castiel--the holy weapon himself--Sam grabbed Wilhelmina from behind around her waist and dragged her backwards. The heat came like a blowtorch from Castiel's body, consuming the King in a matter of seconds. Another demonic corpse twisted and flailed in the death throes, but the moment it turned to ash, the holy fire dissipated as if it had never existed. That did nothing to save them from the fire downstairs quickly spreading through the house. Several of them began coughing, though Dean spat up clumps of blood each time his body coughed.

But it was over.

The King of the Incubi and the Queen of the Succubi were dead.

Dean pushed himself up on his knees. "We gotta get out." He staggered.

And then everything went black.

*****

Floating. Glaring fluorescent lights. A rope around his hand.

Dean sank into peace and quiet, imagining himself floating along a river to the opposite shore. Maybe the afterlife waited for him there, a thought that brought him warmth until he remembered that Castiel wouldn't be there with him.

Then the pain crushed his chest.

_Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep._

He knew that sound. A heart monitor kept track of whether he made it across the river to the afterlife or stayed behind. He pried his eyes open, groaning as full sensation came back to him. An IV bag hung over his head and something sharp and fucking painful ran into the left side of his chest. The damn rectangular white lights in the ceiling burned his eyes.

The bed shifted beneath him and the rope around his hand turned. Castiel's face hovered over him and he realized the rough sensation had been gauze wrapped around his burned hands.

"Hello, Dean," said Castiel, his voice cracking with emotion.

Without hesitation, the first words out of Dean's mouth were about Castiel. "You okay?"

"Yes, I'm fine," he replied. "My hands and chest are burned but it's not terrible. The doctor treated my injuries and allowed me to come and sit with you. California is nice. They don't care if we're in an amorous bond being two males. All of the nurses have been rather kind. One of them brought me breakfast this morning so I wouldn't have to leave you."

"Where am I?" Of course Dean knew he was in California. He didn't know why he asked such a stupid question. The sense of being drugged made him slow.

"UCLA Medical Center. It's been two days. We have police guards outside of this room."

"Why?"

"Oh, they're saying we're famous. Look up there." Castiel gestured with a gauze-wrapped hand up to the television mounted in the corner of the ceiling where CNN appeared to be in a frenzy over arson and a double homicide. "Since we're friends of Kim--" his eyes darted to the hospital room door as if telling Dean to go along with it, "--I suppose we're famous by association now. They've arrested the killers. Mr. Crowley witnessed them fleeing the house and told the police where to find them. It's all very sad that Kim and Kanye are in Heaven now--" again, blue eyes sharpened as if communicating something else, "--but we're very lucky to be alive. Your brother is okay. Smoke inhalation and dehydration. He's four rooms that way and Wilhelmina's watching over him. Charlie and Rhiannon flew here with the baby yesterday. They're in a hotel a few blocks away."

Dean nodded but he couldn't quite absorb so much information. He licked his parched lips and attempted a disguised question. "Are you... Are you in trouble?"

"No," replied Castiel point blank. "I received a letter from home. I'm free from my old job and I can remain here in my new job."

Taking that as receiving a pardon from Heaven and told to live as a human man, Dean breathed a sigh of relief, which hurt like hell. He reached around with a heavy arm and felt the tube running into his chest.

"Don't touch it," Castiel cautioned as he took his hand back. "You have three broken ribs. One of them punctured your lung but you're doing fine. The doctor thinks he can pull out the chest tube in a few days. Just be still and let it do its job." The former angel grasped his hand and brought it to his lips. "Everything's okay now. You pulled a ligament in your knee too but the doctor said all that takes is time to heal and crutches for a while."

"But you--" Dean had no interest in hearing about himself, "--you're okay?"

The bed shifted again as Castiel left his chair. He leaned over Dean, still holding his hand, and pressed kisses along the side of his face. A detour of nuzzling his neck felt familiar and comforting for Dean, as did the kisses bringing life to his lips.

"I'm fine," whispered Castiel. "Your brother's fine too. Wilhelmina broke her wrist in the fight but she's perfectly well. I knew she was okay when I saw her demanding a fuschia cast because a real woman shouldn't be afraid of femininity even if she fights off intruders like a ninja. Her words, not mine." He chuckled at the memory and kissed Dean again. "We're all okay. I want you to sleep and let yourself heal. The faster you get better, the faster we can go home and get back to real life. We have to find a new house and get ready to have a little girl."

The word home for Dean no longer inspired images of the Kansas prairies. Instead, he saw Maine's rugged terrain tamed by the city of Portland on the coast and strings of small towns dotting the landscape.

Home was family dinners around Dean's table.

Home was Castiel sleeping beside him each night.

And now home would be a house filled with little girl toys, birthday parties, and a fresh start for a child who deserved better. They all deserved better, in fact. Now they had a real chance at getting the life all of them deserved.


	41. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Three months after battling the King of the Incubi and the Queen of the Succubi, life is changing for all of the Winchesters. Dean and Castiel are working on gaining custody of Kayleigh, a child with cerebral palsy. Meanwhile, Wilhelmina and Sam are making plans to travel and help as many children infected with demonic heritage as they can.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just wanted to thank all of you who have read this story from the beginning now that we are at the very end. You readers make it fun to write stories. So thank you.

A click and the handheld camera began to record. "Hi! Charlie here, coming to you from the new house in Westport Island. Last week, the house was full of boxes and not very much fun to look at but you're coming home in four short days, Kayleigh! Just in time for Christmas too! I'm very excited to show you how nice your new room is here. Aren't you excited, guys?"

Charlie pointed the camera at Sam, Dean, and Castiel clustered at the end of the new dining room table. Both Castiel and Sam offered exaggerated nods and goofy smiles as Dean slid in the background between them with his own smile. He still walked with a cane for long distances three months after waking up in the hospital and the freezing December air irritated his knee injury a lot that day but he was actually ...  _happy_. It was such a foreign feeling and he tried not to succumb every day to that feeling of waiting for the other shoe to drop like it always did for the Winchesters.

For the first time in his life, he had a family getting ready for Christmas together. He was a true blue homeowner too. The house sat between two saltwater rivers, the Sheepscot River and the Back River, fifty miles north of Portland. Only about eight hundred people lived there, which was a huge selling point for Dean, as was the acre and a half lot. The house itself was built in 1820 but modernized with a firepit and a detached garage near the vegetable garden left by the previous owners. All of it had been covered over by snow for most of the winter though. It made the seven-foot Christmas tree in the living room window look like a postcard. Part of Dean knew he overcompensated, hoping to give Kayleigh the life he never had as a child.

"Dean," interviewed Charlie from behind the camera, "tell Kayleigh about her new room."

Dean cleared his throat, feeling awkward with the lens staring at him. "Well, uh, we took the sunroom through the hallway down there and converted it into a bedroom. Sam--Uncle Sammy--he built all the ramps on the front door, the kitchen door, and there's a door on your bedroom too. I fixed all the windows and locks and--"

Castiel poked his head in the picture and interjected, "I painted the walls purple, just like your favorite color. There are gold decorations because Auntie Charlie thinks gold is a nice color to go with purple. You have more windows than anyone else in this house. Auntie Charlie will live here for another year just for you, Kayleigh. Isn't that nice?"

A little smile played Dean's mouth. He realized Castiel interrupted because Kayleigh, still quite young, probably didn't care about ramps and stainless steel deadbolt locks even though those things were very important to him. Having a small child--a little girl too--was going to be a huge adjustment for him. Of course, he knew that three months before when they started the foster parenting process, but it pressed on him even more just four days away from gaining custody. They anticipated fully adopting her in a year as well. Her parents were sentenced to twenty years behind bars and could not possibly regain custody while she was a minor. Castiel had adoption in mind from the first day.

Oddly enough, the unfortunate Kardashian business gave the Winchesters a chance to establish their real identities in Maine. It had been Sam's idea to come clean, telling people that they'd used aliases to avoid unwanted attention because of their friendship with Kim. Everyone bought it. Even Jenna. It came as a big relief to Dean not having to live under an alias forever.

"Uncle Sammy, do you have anything to tell Kayleigh before she comes home?" asked Charlie as she pointed the camera at him.

Much cooler on film, Sam offered a dazzling smile. "Hi, Kayleigh-bug. I'm really excited to have you join our family. You have a little cousin, Logan, and maybe more little cousins in the future. I'm gonna teach you about books and history and cool things like that. Auntie Wilhelmina's gonna teach you about dresses and hair and makeup if that stuff is fun for you. If not, that's cool too. You can be anything you want to be in our family."

"And I'm gonna teach you about Harry Potter and all the awesome lady superheroes," added Charlie, craning around to look into the camera. "Dean? Cas? You wanna say anything before Kayleigh comes home?"

The camera pointed at them again. Castiel spoke first. "Well, Kayleigh, I'm very happy you're coming to live with us. I was your teacher first but I've come to love you like my own daughter over the last several months. One day when you're older, you can watch these little movies again that Auntie Charlie made since we started this process and you'll really come to understand how loved you are already. And it's okay if you don't want to call Dean or me Daddy. You won't hurt our feelings. Someday you might want to and that's okay too. We love you very much and we're always going to be here for you no matter what happens."

"Don't be afraid," Dean jumped in spontaneously. "I know things have been scary lately staying in that state home but it's almost over. You'll never have to go back again. Every night, one of us will be here to give you awesome dinners and read you bedtime stories and all that good stuff. You're a Winchester now. We're the best family I know of--right, guys?"

Dean glanced around at the others, who nodded and readily agreed.

"So don't you worry, Kayleigh. Four more days and you'll be coming to your forever home." He cupped his hand around his mouth, offering an exaggerated whisper. "Santa already knows you're gonna live here too."

"All right, say bye, everybody," Charlie directed.

"Bye!" each of them said as they waved.

The camera clicked off and Charlie gave a sharp nod. "Cool. I'm taking your car down to Portland, Dean. Gonna go visit our girl and then head to the mall."

"GameStop?"

"You know me so well," she sassed with a cheeky smile.

*****

Still unhappy with the living room bookshelf, Sam stood at the epicenter of several book towers scattered on the floor. He was just going to have to buy another shelf. That was all there was to it. Mixing pleasure reading with those of mythology and lore, which he viewed as work, seemed wrong and unorganized. For the time being, he began sliding books home in sections of mythology and lore on top and pleasure reading along the lower shelves.

Fat little legs, new to toddling upright, propelled young Logan through the living room. He toppled over with excitement at successfully reaching Sam and tugged on his pants leg. Sam's jeans pulled him to his naked little feet again. Pearly white teeth flashed in his wide smile as he held onto Sam's leg for stability.

"What are you doing?" Sam asked, peering down with an easy smile. "Where's your mother, hm?"

Not quite a year old, Logan's response amounted to babbling mamamama and giggling at his own clever voice. Sam abandoned the skyscrapers of books and scooped the toddler up on his arm, deciding to make sure Wilhelmina would watch him while he went out in search of another bookshelf. He poked his head around the arched doorway but found the kitchen empty, and continued on peeking into different rooms of their new apartment. It hadn't been the plan, of course, moving into another apartment, but they decided to live cheap and save money for a better house. Wilhelmina talked about quitting the bar and going to cosmetology school with the eventual goal in mind of opening her own salon. That required money. So they found a modest two bedroom apartment on the northern fringe of Portland where it wasn't so expensive.

Sam found Wilhelmina in their bedroom. She studied a United States map tacked to the wall near her vanity, and then she bent to consult her laptop. Clusters of color coded pushpins pierced different cities and towns, mostly centered around highly populated areas.

"Did you lose something?" Sam asked teasingly.

His presence startled her but she smiled at Logan hanging on Sam's shoulder like he enjoyed a jungle gym. "Sorry," she replied as she stuck a red pushpin into Chicago. "I got a few new reports of kids with the copper disease. That's what they're calling it, by the way. Could've been more original, don't you think?"

"Doctors don't really have creative impulses," he said. Flopping on their bed, he let Logan crawl among the pillows.

As Wilhelmina studied her map, a stressful sigh did little to relieve her body. She planted hands on her hips and chewed her lower lip. "This is just the States. Kids from a demon parent are in the low thousands already. It's slowing down though, so I think I've almost got all of them. They're mostly in New York, Atlanta, Dallas, Chicago, Seattle, and LA, like the demons planned out where to hit the population. I can't even think of what the rest of the planet looks like. I don't think I can do this myself."

"You're only one person," Sam commented gently.

She nodded with a regretful tension in her eyes.

"What are you gonna do?"

"I'm just gonna have to teach other hunters how to do the cure," she decided with the kind of abruptness that suggested she'd already been thinking about it. "I'll divide out the serum for hunters in other countries and teach them through Skype or something. I need to help American kids myself though. I promised myself I'd help all the kids if my son was given his life back."

The map hanging behind her made Sam a bit skeptical. "Thousands of them."

"Well, I've been thinking about it," she admitted, which he already guessed. "Kids after the age of six or so have already developed a very strong sense of free will that will make all this really hard. I might not be able to help them if they've already bonded with their demonic heritage, but I don't mean I'll ignore them completely. But I'm thinking of focusing on the little ones first. Babies and toddlers. There are so many more of them and I think that's because the demons were really starting to ramp up production, so to speak, when the angels got booted out of Heaven. Disabled angels, y'know, aren't gonna organize too fast. So I'm gonna try to help the little ones mostly and hope that I'll find older ones to help along the way. Helping babies and toddlers will knock out most of what they tried to do."

Listening carefully, Sam pushed himself upright on the bed with his legs folded under him and corralled Logan from time to time.

She continued. "Without leaders, I don't think it'll be too dangerous. Chances are they're hiding out and squabbling among themselves over new leaders. I won't be able to reach copper-eyed kids born to succubi--that I know for sure--but women like me who were abused and raped by incubi will be a good place to start. The news hasn't really picked up on it because it's not contagious. So far they think it's an unknown eye condition."

"The news never really knows anything," commented Sam with a nod.

"Right." Wilhelmina looked at him then, really looked at him for the first time that day, and scooted across the bed. She folded herself in front of him and implored his eyes with her sincerity and determination. "It's gonna take a while on the road. Maybe a couple of months to hit these major cities."

"Yeah...."

"I don't wanna be away from you that long," she pressed, though squirming inwardly with trying to express her need for him.

A tiny smirk flashed over his mouth. "Yeah...."

She caught on and her cheeks filled with red deeper than the powder blush she already wore there. "Don't make me say it, Sam."

"Say what?" Sam teased as he reached over Logan in his lap and tickled Wilhelmina's waistline. "C'mon, Grinch. Let that heart grow three sizes. I won't tell anyone."

Laughter rang from her throat as she threw her head back and wiggled away from his intrusive hand. "Okay!" she blurted, slapping his chest. "Please, Sam, please come on the road with me so I don't have to pine for you while I'm gone because I love you and ... fuck. I love you. God, I feel so gross now. I need a shower."

It was nice to hear but he decided against teasing her more. Instead, he murmured, "I'll come with you then," and pulled her close by her chin for a hearty kiss.

"But I'm driving," she asserted sternly.

"Fine. When we're done, you're enrolling in that cosmetology school and I'm gonna be looking for a new job, I guess."

Stress wrinkled the delicate skin between her eyes again. "What are we doing for money?"

"Baby, you're a hunter now. There are ways to find money," Sam replied. "Don't worry. You help those little kids and I'll help us."

Wilhelmina smiled thoughtfully. "It's like your hunter farewell tour."

"Good riddance," he said, stealing another kiss.

*****

Peach roses gripped so tight in Dean's hand that he worried about crushing the stems. He'd never gotten flowers for a little girl before but it seemed right. Every lady should know what it's like to get pretty flowers, even from a father figure like he intended to be. It was strange, he thought as he walked down the Portland street beside Castiel, that once he accepted the idea of being a foster parent, he found that he actually wanted to take care of Kayleigh. It cost a pretty penny to buy peach roses in the middle of December too, but it was worth it.

"You look frightened," murmured Castiel, looping his arm around Dean's elbow.

"I'm cool," Dean replied. "No congestion? Feeling okay?"

"Dean, I haven't been sick since California. I think we can assume Crowley really did correct my immune system," he assured as he did at least once a week. "Today is a happy occasion. Let's keep it that way."

The state home housed children of all ages waiting to be placed in foster homes. Placing Kayleigh had been a problem from the beginning because of the severity of her disability, making her watch dozens of children come and go within a few days, while she had been staying there for three months. Videos from the family once a week were Charlie's idea and the home staff reported how those tapes helped Kayleigh bond with them before her placement day. And, of course, Dean and Castiel visited her as often as they were allowed. That day stood above the others though. It was the last day, the final visit, as they put her on the road home. Not a bone in Dean's body wanted to give her back to a drug dealing family and so a pact arose between him and Castiel. They promised to fight for permanent adoption as long as it took.

"You got our licensing paperwork?" Dean asked.

"Yes," said Castiel, holding open the door for him. "They know who we are."

"Yeah, but--"

"--It'll be fine, Dean."

The director of the children's home, a great round woman with bottle dyed auburn hair, greeted the pair with strong handshakes and excited smiles. She seemed as eager to place children in good homes as the parents were to receive them. Foster homes weren't usually great places, she'd once told them woefully, but they had the potential to be much better than state homes. She did what she could, including speeding them through the final bits of paperwork.

"Kayleigh's in the day room. You're free to collect her," the woman said once Dean and Castiel signed the last page of the custody agreement.

"Thanks," Dean said with a nod as he grabbed the bunch of peach roses.

Castiel's confidence in being a parent never wavered. He led the way, occasionally glancing back at Dean with a joyful twinkle in his eye, and together they meandered through long corridors to the day room. It resembled an oversized classroom with children off in clumps engaged in different activities--some building things, others coloring. It struck Dean hard that each of them had been removed from unfit homes and only a few stood a chance at being returned to their biological parents at all. They weren't so very different from him, often dumped off with Bobby without knowing when or how his father would be back. He promised himself on the spot--a secret promise not even for Castiel to hear--that he would never do that to Kayleigh. She would always have one of them around, or Sam and Wilhelmina if needed. Kayleigh would never feel that uncertainty from his childhood.

"There she is," declared Castiel, pointing to a clump of children gathered around a television playing cartoon scenes of dancing colorful hippos. He wound around low tables and bent over her shoulder with kisses on her plump little cheek. "Hello, Kayleigh."

Excitement tightened Kayleigh's muscles in a sudden jerk and her fisted hands raised without much control. She smiled--her eyes even smiled whenever they visited--and Castiel pulled her wheelchair away from the movie. They walked her back to her room to collect the few possessions she had left in the world. Though four other children shared that room with her, they were all gone out on the playground or in the day room.

Dean crouched around the corner of her wheelchair as Castiel packed her bag. "Hey, pretty girl," he said tenderly, preferring the quiet of that room. "Today's the day. You get to come home with us." His nose wrinkled playfully. "Are you sure you like us enough? I mean, sometimes Cas burns his pies and the house gets stinky."

Giggling answered Dean in Kayleigh's slow way, always fighting for control of her little body. "Wanna go home," she said.

"Have you been practicing, Kayleigh-bug?" asked Castiel over his shoulder as he folded her clothes. "You're doing very well with your words."

"Yes," she told him.

Though Kayleigh's words never sounded clear and blended together in slurred syllables, Castiel had plans to take her to speech therapists who could help her improve. He seemed to know intuitively that the vast majority of Kayleigh's development would happen in those precious few young years and he wanted to give her the best chance at life. A hospital there in Portland awaited her after the holidays for a full evaluation. Whether she needed surgery, physical therapy, occupational therapy, speech therapy, or anything else--they intended to help her through all of it. Castiel took the lead with her education, deciding to homeschool her until first grade and then letting her choose whether to go back to public school or not. But all of that could wait. Dean wanted to enjoy Christmas and the New Year quietly st home.

"I brought you flowers, see?" Dean said, showing her the blossoms. "It's a special day. Girls should get flowers on special days."

The stiffened excitement seized Kayleigh's body again. A wide smile accompanied outstretched arms, and she said, "Thank you! Hug!" in such an innocent little girl way.

Dean put the flowers on her bed and decided it was time for a real hug, not an awkward hug around the wheelchair. He unhooked her lap tray, setting it aside, and unsnapped her seatbelt with a hand on her tummy to keep her from popping out. Castiel pretended not to watch but he did, thinking he was sly, and peeking from the corner of his eye. It didn't bother Dean being watched. He still had a lot to learn but the only way was to dive right into it. So he plucked Kayleigh out of her wheelchair and wrapped his arms around her back and her legs. In a moment, he felt her fists gripping his shirt fabric over his shoulders and he realized she was hugging him back.

"You're a good kid," Dean said quietly into her little shoulder.

"I call you Pop."

At first Dean didn't know if he heard her right. He turned on his heels and met Castiel's gaze, who appeared just as shocked. A slow smile formed, crinkling the former angel's eyes. They had heard it right, apparently. Neither of them expected it so soon but they hoped she would eventually reach that place. The child psychologist informed them of how unhappy her home life had been and cautioned them against pushing her through the healing process. They were instructed to give her the latitude to carve out her own identity.

"What would you like to call me?" Castiel asked carefully.

"Daddy," the little voice said on Dean's shoulder.

"Okay. What do you think, Dean?"

The hunter nodded. "Sounds good to me." Although he spoke casually, his eyes threatened to brim over if she called him Pop again. He never expected to be so affected by it but he understood the sort of abandonment she faced and related to her heart possibly deeper than Castiel did.

"Ready to go?" suggested Castiel as he zipped her suitcase.

"I got her. Get the chair," Dean replied without explaining.

The truth was, Dean needed to be the one to carry Kayleigh out of that overcrowded state home. He never wanted to forget her weight in his arms that day. It would always remind him of the shift in his priorities from hunter to father. More than thirty years before, a young Mary Campbell married John Winchester with the hope that their children wouldn't have to join the Campbell family business--hunting. And although John, Sam, and Dean took a long detour into the world of monsters, demons, and angels, that detour led Dean to Castiel and Sam to Wilhelmina. That hunter detour led them to their new little families, fulfilling Mary Campbell Winchester's wishes that her boys find normal lives.

Castiel bundled Kayleigh up in her winter coat, her hat, and her gloves as Dean held her. He seemed to perceive on some level what Dean felt and what he needed to do, so he balanced Kayleigh's suitcase and lap tray in her wheelchair and followed them. The child, in spite of always fighting her own body, had her arms resting on Dean's shoulders along with her sweet little face. Quiet and trusting, the bond deepened in wordless moments.

Cold winter air blasted them as they left the state home. Dean's arms tightened around Kayleigh as if he could protect her from the wind and swirling snow. In that action, he realized the paternal instincts really did exist in him somewhere. They might take some time to thaw, but he had a child.

Looking up to the gray winter sky over Maine, he nodded to his mother in Heaven.

 _I'm a father now, Mom_.


End file.
